


You Launch Your Rocketship

by chairchair



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dancing, Drunken captors, Dumb bbs, F/M, M/M, So Much Snark, fancy parties, important detective work, nanowrimo 2013, starships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chairchair/pseuds/chairchair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the peaceful alliance between humans and trolls, one lonely starship struggles to provide tech support in a galaxy that just wants too much drama for its own good.</p><p>One Sollux Captor, captain of said starship, gets caught up in a mystery that goes WAY beyond his job description.</p><p>He also tries desperately not to find love in this galaxy, and of course runs face first into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally editing NaNoWriMo 2013. Be prepared for all the dumb Captor shenanigans. All of them.

When your ship touches down on the (miraculously existent) landing pad of the tiny, quaint planet Merribee, you wonder very much how you ever managed to get yourself convinced to take any job here whatsoever. 

You're a city troll, born and raised. You grew up in the slums of Alternia itself, far from Earth and all of its silly politics and strangely-named animals and overpriced kitschy merchandise. You routinely hacked into the Alternia government for fun, almost getting your ass blasted a few times and even nearly getting culled once when you didn't properly cloak your blood color in a infiltration scheme. And yet here you are, captain of a respectable crew, on a respectable mission to a disgustingly respectable planet that's far too close to Earth for your liking. You bet they have kitschy merchandise galore here. You wrinkle your nose.  

"What the hell is this dump," your first mate says flatly, blinking in the unnaturally cheery sunlight and tossing her long black hair over her shoulder. She came from similar upbringings as you, practically hatched in the same brood. You bite back a grin. You can always count on Aradia to be unimpressed, no matter the situation. Nepeta, on the other hand, is already collecting seashells like she's on a personal vacation, and Aradia has to yank her back before she wanders too far off track. 

"Where are we going again?" Nepeta says begrudgingly, stuffing a pawful of sand-crusted seashells into her pocket. You check the memo on your transmitter. 

"The seaport right over there. We'd better book it, too, this planet obviously has no semblance of public transit so we're gonna need to walk from here." 

"Sounds clawful. Can't I just keep collecting shells?" Aradia just gives her a look until she sighs and starts following you both down the beach. 

By the time you get to your destination town, which was much further away than it looked and involved an uncomfortable wade through extremely salty, knee-height seawater, Nepeta has completely deflated and is pouting as she rolls her pants back down over her calves and shakes off residual water. It's times like these that you have to remind yourself that this is your Defense Officer, and that her affable demeanor is, as it turns out, a huge advantage in combat. At any rate. You quickly locate the Intergalaxy Center (only one on this whole planet, not that you're surprised) and straighten your collar smartly, preparing your Business Voice for this encounter. A single tiny troll is perched on a stool at the front desk. She looks to be a midblood — not too much power, but still higher ranked than you on the hemospectrum. Not that it matters when you've got a Government-issued badge, pardoning you for your lowly status. Honorary tealblood, what a fucking joke.  

"Yes, m'dear?" she says blearily. She looks as though she's never gotten a patron and isn't quite sure what to do with one now that you're there.  

"Sollux Captor. Technical department manager for Intergalactic Support. Are you the sole contact for this planet's IC?" 

"Oh, no of course not!" she says. Well thank the signless for that, you were starting to — "My moirail helps." You massage your forehead resignedly.  

"Well, ma'am, were you aware that you've been sending out unauthorized radio signals from this location? All outgoing communication must follow government regulations as per your instruction  manual that you received upon getting this position...you did receive an instruction manual?" 

"Yes, yes, of course!" she says, her claws tapping nervously on the linoleum desk. "I keep it with me at all times. What kind of employee do you think I am?" She pulls the thick manual out from a side drawer and blows on the cover, sending up a thick puff of dust. She coughs. "Here it is. Ahem! I read it every day." 

"Right," you say suspiciously. There's something going on here, but you're not sure what. Is this dinky planet a cover for some sort of underground operation? Now _that_ would be a plot twist worthy of Troll M. Night Shyamalan. "Well, there's a section in there, Section IIVI if memory serves — " (you're so prepared, you can't even handle yourself), "— on inter-planetary communication encoding and signal regulation. Please read that section carefully and be sure to take special note of the subsections about unauthorized signal lockdown. As you know, if we catch any more non-regulated communications coming from this location, we'll have to suspend you temporarily from the network." You pull a tiny digital clipboard from your jacket pocket. "Please sign here to confirm you understand these consequences and have received adequate notice should we be forced to take action." 

She signs reluctantly, hand shaking. "But dear, I don't know anything about any, eh, unauthorized signals. This is a tiny planet... we hardly get more than a Galaxy Pizza delivery request every once and a while." 

"Well," you say, looking at her over the top of your two-toned glasses, "you'll have to figure it out, won't you? Perhaps your moirail can help."  

"Oh er, yes dear, perhaps he can." She looks over her shoulder and calls towards a door in the back of the room. "Charles, lovely! Would you come here for a moment?" She pats her curly horns, adjusts her tiny spectacles as she waits. A hunched-over, elderly human finally appears from the doorway. He's wearing the most hideous floral shirt you've ever seen.  

"What is it, Amatha darling?" he says blearily.  

"This gentleman here says we're having some troubles with our radio signals. Do you know anything?"  

"Trouble?" he croaks. "But we only use them for pizza delivery!" 

"That's what I said! You see, sir, you must be mistaken." She directs this last part at you as her moirail strokes her shoulder. "Would you like a town guide? The beach is wonderful this time of year and the seasonal ice cream flavors are simply divine. Burrberry is one, I think? Is that a flavor, dear, or is that the bag?" 

"The bag, I dare say," Charles says, brows furrowed in thought. You've heard enough.  

"If you have no further questions, we'll be on our way," you say sharply. Disgusting pale, and with a human? You know it's more accepted on these border planets, but you just cannot see the appeal. Not only do they not have horns or properly toned skin, but everyone knows that humans have a disturbingly shallow understanding of romance compared to trolls. You'd be amazed if this _Charles_ person even understood what a moirail is.  

Your business obligations now complete, you tuck the clipboard back into your pocket, give them both a nod, and march out of the office, your crew members trailing behind you.  

"Gosh, Sollux," Nepeta says wryly. "A little harsh today." 

"I just want to get off this goddamn planet as fast as possible," you grumble. Humans everywhere. The streets are absolutely crawling with the little pink and brown creatures.  

"Oh, no no no," she says insistingly, grabbing onto your arm. Obviously, she's recovered from her sea-trudging trauma. "We have to check out the town first! I hear the crab rolls are purrrrfect!"  

"...Fine," you relent. "But only because I'm hungry." Nepeta cheers victoriously and skips ahead, pausing only to play with a stray cat that's begging for scraps of fish at a nearby dock.  

"Harsh?" Aradia says next to you, out of the corner of her mouth. "I do think you've gone soft." You elbow her with a huff and she bumps you back with her hip, snorting. You have the best moirail. It's you. And you're _nice and subtle_ about it, unlike SOME people. They should really take a lesson from respectable trolls like yourself. (Respectable of course meaning the lowest of the lowblooded scum of troll society, but hey, at least you can PRETEND to have some class!) 

Nepeta bounces back to you, a fat, two-mouthed, very grumpy looking white cat trapped squarely in her arms. "Look at him! He's gorgeous!" she squeals at you both. "He looks just like Pounce! I wonder if you were supposed to be someone's lusus?" she wonders, peering at him with squinty eyes. He makes a low hissing noise and flattens his ears.  

"Alright, Nepeta, release the local purrbeast," you say dryly. "We have work to do, you know." 

"Lunch! Yes!" Nepeta says. "I would never forget. But Pounce the Second can come with us, can't he? Just look at that face! All he needs is a little attention!" Pounce the Seconds looks absolutely livid to you, but what would you know. You're more of an insect guy. On a related note, this planet's name is really its only redeeming quality. Meri _bee._ Ehehe. 

You finally arrive somewhere that looks like it sells actual food and not awful tourist garbage. Why anyone would willingly visit a planet like this is beyond you, but hey. You suppose you're hanging around to partake in the local cuisine instead of booking your ass out as soon as your job's over, so you can't really talk. 

"No pets inside," a stern-looking clerk says to Nepeta sharply. "The kitty stays out." Nepeta visibly droops and defeatedly drops Pounce the Second on the cobblestone street next to her. She kneels down next to him. "Stay here, okay?" she tells him gently, scratching him behind a ragged ear. He meows uncertainly. "I'll bring you some fish!" she assures. He flops down in a patch of sun, apparently satisfied. You sigh. She's the purrbeast whisperer, you swear. Probably due to her lusus. You wish your stupid lusus gave you bee-whispering abilities, which would have been really helpful for your silicomb cultivation, but unfortunately your lusus was a wonderful, useless, one-of-a-kind mutant like you, and unless you happen to find another two-headed-cyclops-whatever-the-hell-he-was-hybrid, you're merely stuck with the very special bestowed gift of thinking a lot about binary. Not that you're really complaining about this skill. It's helpful for understanding husktops and such, you suppose. But still. 

You all enter the tiny shop, which is decorated in an obscenely quaint fashion, with tiny string of seashells hanging from the ceiling, framed photos of beach balls and sand castles, baskets of dried starfish and mollusks...the works. Anything this cutesy should be illegal. You shudder. This crab roll had better be goddamn worth it. You wait in line with a expectedly mixed number of trolls and humans for what you've seen of the planet. The trolls, to their merit, tend a lot more towards the raw shellfish, and the humans, to your disgust, towards their grossly well-cooked, decorated seafood with cilantro and parsley and who-the-hell-knows-what-else strange human herbs. Earth must be an awful place. 

After standing in line for what feels like a trillion years, you're finally at the front of the line. A human woman greets you. She has a clamshell barrette clipping back a portion of her long blonde bangs. 

"To what do I owe the honor of having such _fine_ Government officials gracing my humble establishment?" she asks you, tilting her head to the side.  

"We're just hungry," you say flatly, nudging your badge back out of sight with as little self-consciousness as you can manage. She titters. 

"Very well, very well. What'll it be?"  

"Three crab rolls," you say. "Troll style." She nods, adding your total, and you pass her your IGC card, thanking your lucky stars for the convenient existence of Galactic Credit Bureau. You then sit on a nearby artfully-antiquated bench while you wait, and Nepeta runs back outside to check on Pounce the Second. A bell announcing your order dings, and you finally get your crab roll, extra rare, just the way you like it. It's a beast of a roll, claws and shells and buttery pink legs sticking out from the well-browed bread at all angles. Yum. So much better than the fancy human version. The three of you trundle outside, Nepeta luring Pounce (you've accepted the name. You're done.) with a piece of crab leg, and sit on the dock, staring out at the endless expanse of ocean. Nepeta swings her legs over the edge, chewing ferociously on her roll.  

"So worth it, riiiiight?" she says, with a mouth full of crab. 

"Yeah, yeah," you say. You have to admit, it is pretty damn good. But you'd never say it plainly enough to warrant the smug reaction you deserve.   

"Never got food like this in the slums," says Aradia, glancing at you. "Maybe the sea troll colony had it right." 

"Don't talk to me about _sea trolls_ ," you hiss. "A bunch of overprivileged assholes who don't know how good they've got it." Sea trolls, as everyone knows, are the highest on the hemospectrum, topped by the Condesce herself. Or at least they were, before the Pact. Once the Troll-Human Intergalactic Peace Pact (THIPP) was formed, the first thing to go was the Empress (and the first thing to come was a healthy wave of unmemorable acronyms). Losing the Empress was great because she was a power-hungry fearmonger who plunged Alternia into a millennia of suffering, but of course it was also unfortunate for the next in line for the throne, who just happened to be the only decent sea troll you know of. Instead of a lifetime of royalty, she was offered a captain position on the highest-ranked starship in the government fleet, with her asshole seadweller moirail as co-captain, and you haven't seen her since. You hope she's happy with her consolation prize.   

At any rate, when the empire fell, a bunch of rebellious seatrolls who'd been sitting pretty in high ranks under the Condesce were suddenly shafted when they realized that if they weren't the next-in-line, they weren't going to get a high-ranking position unless they deserved it. And so, after a small failure of a rebellion against the IG (Inter-galactic Government), a large number of them migrated to various border planets. Since it's mostly ocean, Meribee was a particularly popular choice, and a vast seadweller colony soon grew across the ocean floor. Luckily, they mostly fend for themselves so you haven't seen much of them around, but it's really yet another reason to hate this planet.  

"Speaking of sea trolls," Nepeta says slowly, checking her transmitter which began beeping wildly a few seconds ago, "We're getting a distress call. From Feferi's ship." 

The ex-next-in-line, speak of the devil. You're instantly alert. "What's it say?"  

"We're to head to Metropiter immediately. Apparently they're in dire need of assistance. Some sort of mass blackout — they can't power up their ship to get it off the ground. It looks like their transmitter is on its last legs too." 

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. "That planet is one big city, don't they have their own technician??" Nepeta shrugs.  

"It's an official order, it's not like we can say no even if it doesn't make sense." 

"I know, I know," you say. "I just wish there could be an urgent issue on _our_ side of the galaxy network." 

"As if we'd ever be that lucky," Aradia says with a shallow smile. You sigh. 

"Okay, messaging Equius now." You press a button on your wrist transmitter and the screen lights up. 

"Yes, Sollux Captain Sir," says a deep voice into your ear, overly-polite as always. "I am at your service." 

"Equius," you say. "We need to get to Metropiter on the double. Will you check the charge status of the ship?" 

"Of course," Equius replies. You can hear the rustle and click of buttons and the slow rumble of the engine. "The ship is at 95% charge. Permission to disconnect from the landing site without completing?" 

"We're going to need all the power we can get for this trip," you say. "Let it finish, and make sure the backup batteries are ready as well. We'll be there soon." 

"Understood." Your transmitter blinks once, and the screen goes black. 

"Alright," you say. "Our ship is almost fully charged, so we'd better walk fast." 


	2. Chapter 2

When you're back on your ship and strapped in, Nepeta and Equius bustle to get the ship ready for takeoff.

"Ugh," Aradia says, sniffing the sleeve of her uniform and wrinkling her nose in distaste. "I'm going to smell like fish for days." Pounce the Second, who somehow made it onto your ship (likely through some clever smuggling techniques on Nepeta's part, as you thought you'd been rid of him long ago,) jumps onto her lap in alarm once the ship takes off and digs in with his claws, yowling furiously out of both mouths. "Nepeta, dammit!" Aradia yells. "Will you do something with that purrbeast?"

"He's fine, he's fine!" she chirps gleefully as she adjusts for the switch into zero space flight, apparently immune to the purrbeast leg stabbing. "Just let him get used to the ship. You'll be a good boy, won't you, Pounce? You're going to love the city!"

"How's the z-space traffic from here to Metropiter looking?" you ask.

"It is acceptable, Captain," Equius says gruffly as he peers at a scatterplot on a projected screen. "We should be there in three hours, at most."

You nod. "Good." It's a longer estimate than usual, but you'd expected that the blackout would cause some jams around the z-space ports, as anything more out-of-the-ordinary than a warm breeze on a hub planet tends to do. It's actually not as bad as you'd feared. You stare out at the expanse of nothing out the window (zero space, as the name implies, isn't particularly exciting) and contemplate this blackout. You're actually a little excited that Feferi called you out for this assignment — it's a big project, and if she wanted you specifically it says a lot about how highly esteemed she considers your abilities.

You and Feferi do have a bit of a history, to be fair. You had a short flushed fling when you were barely wigglers, and despite it ending a bit awkwardly, as adolescent flings often do, you've stayed on good terms throughout the years, even since she started captaining the Cuttlefish and you stopped really seeing her. You peek cautiously at Aradia, with whom you also have history but who, unlike Feferi, has stayed by your side as your moirail throughout the sweeps, as solid and unrelenting as the day you met her. Uncharacteristically, she seems to have resigned herself to her feline fate, and is reluctantly scratching Pounce under his chin. He hops onto the side of her chair and kneads his paws into her seatbelt, purring fiercely and delivering a dust-like layer of fur into her lap. She sighs.

After a span of contemplation that your crewmembers seem to be participating in well, judging by the silence, Equius asks you all to prepare yourselves for landing. Aradia's hurried attempts to extract Pounce from her person sends a cloud of fur into the air, causing Equius to sneeze uncontrollably (apologizing profusely after each sneeze) and Nepeta to giggle so hard she almost falls out of her chair. They manage to compose themselves for landing, however, and you touch gently down on the crowded landing pad. You exit the ship with an armful of wires that connect to your backup batteries and try to avoid the trolls swarming around the station likes a flooded ant colony, flashing red lights and alarm signals.

"What a mess," you say lowly. "Don't they have backup generators or something?" To your left, Nepeta shrugs.

As soon as you're out of the thick of the crowd, Feferi appears suddenly in front of you, as flashy and bubbly as you remember and dressed head-to-toe in neon fuchsia. Her typically-immaculate goggles are smudged and askew, however, and she looks breathless, stressed. She's nearly as tall as you now too, and her eyes are nearing the end of of their transition to their adult color. Soon they'll match her outfit perfectly, the color manifestation of the top of the hemospectrum. 

"Sollux! Thank Gl'bgolyb! We've got a big glubbing problem here!"  she says. "Central blackout across all the landing centers, and none of the  _idiots_  here can fix it. I know you were on a mission in Merribee — sorry, but you were the only one I could think of who's actually competent enough to help the matter."

"I'm sure that's not true," you say in an attempt to be humble. (Ha! You knew she thought you were the best.) "Do you need to takeoff right away? We've got a spare battery you can use to charge. It should be enough to get you to central admin at least."

"No, no," says Feferi quickly. "I'd better stay for a while. If you haven't noticed, it's a little hectic around here, and it is kind of my duty to keep the planets under control. Actually, on that note, I should probably notify the IC that you're here. I'm sure you'd like to get up to speed on the situation as well, so could you find Eridan to do so? He should be close by, but let me just locate him..." She taps her transmitter quickly and you wait in silence as she watches it for a signal. "There he is! Oh, for glub's sake Eridan, are you in a bar again? I'm sorry," she says to you. "He hasn't been at his best lately. I've already notified Central that you're on temp support staff, highest security privileges of course, and they've agreed to cover room and board, so maybe while you go talk to Eridan one of your crew members can get that set up. Just have the hotel type in the security key, er, ECW34THG, and you should be able to get in anywhere you like, no problem. What else..." She furrows her brow.  "Oh! Right! You'll be heavily compensated. On top of your normal salary of course. Big deal, you know. Central's going nuts, so you know how happy they'll be when you fix things."

"Right," you say processing this information. "Thanks, FF." The concept of interacting with Eridan sends off warning bells in your head, but you swallow down any words of protest you might have. Feferi's done a lot to accommodate you coming here, and the last thing she needs is another complaint. "It's good to see you again," you say instead.

She smiles at you, her eyes softening, then pulls you in for a hug. "You too," she says quietly. For a moment, you get a flashback to easier times, when Feferi would skip her Empress duties to catch frogs with you and Aradia, and later to meet you in private, stealing kisses under freeway overpasses and in alleyways, hiding her color so you could pretend for those precious seconds that you had a chance with her. Caught in the past, you almost bring it up, ask why she never asked you to join her crew, why she tolerates her awful moirail. But then she pulls away and you shake your head free of silly childhood fantasies.

"Aradia, will you get the hotel business settled?" you say, attempting to focus yourself on more important, concrete matters. "And Nepeta, will you bring Equius to meet her there after he's done shutting down the ship? Tell him we'll be here for at least a night and to make the necessary preparations, would you?"

"Will do!" she says, saluting you cheerily. Aradia confirms the security key with Feferi, scribbling it into the omnipresent, well-worn notebook that she pulls out of her uniform's chest pocket. She never trusted technology like you do, sticking to pen and paper when she can, but her shorthand and street slang and code make her notes just as impenetrable to a thief as your husktop. Not that she would ever let her notebook out of her sight, even for a second. 

"And I'll meet you all there...soon. Hopefully," you add, a bit of a grimace slipping accidentally into your expression. You are not looking forward to this at all.

"Eridan's at a bar called The Oinkbeast's Nug, just around the corner there then straight down for five or six blocks," Feferi says to you, pointing to the east. "It's the one with, well, the Oinkbeast on the sign. You can't miss it. It's a bit of a sketchy place, though, so keep on your toes."

"Got it. Thanks for your help, FF. Really appreciate it." You deliberately neglect to remind her that quote-on-quote 'sketchy places' were basically your playgrounds as a wiggler, and hers too before she garnered too many royal inhibitions.

"No, thank you! Honestly, I don't know what we would have done." She smiles wearily, gives your arm a squeeze, and marches off in the direction of the increasingly panicky-looking landing crew. You can hear her barking orders in the distance behind you as you finally step out into Metropiter's comfortingly dirty streets.

Now this. This is more like it. Metropiter is a colony of Alternia, rather than Earth, and it shows. Flashing signs advertise rows of seedy Alternians-only motels, with questionable taglines such as "high-quality recuperacoons for all your soporific needs, no questions asked!" and "Experience a comfort your lusus never gave you." You'll be staying in a mixed-species hotel of significantly higher quality, of course, or Feferi would throw a fit (and it's not like you're paying, anyway) but sometimes you get an itch for the creaky floorboards and watered-down sopor slime of your wigglerhood, for whatever reason.

The streets narrow considerably as you progress, for this is a city of foot traffic and underground tunnels, not those silly human above-ground personal vehicles. Subway entrances are scattered here and there, but they are the only signs that Metropiter has any means of planetary transportation at all. Even that's a recent development: post-revolution. Back on Alternia, in the darkest parts of the imperial rule, low to midblood troll really had no reason to leave their respiteblocks, unless they were looking to get culled or had a desperate need to fill a quadrant that was worth risking their lives for. And even later, during the tail end of the revolution, you were still an idiot if you were a lowblood and strayed too far into highblood territory. The hive that you shared with Aradia as a wiggler, which you can only call so with a impressive stretch of the imagination, felt like a safe haven to you both — you never ventured much further than a five-block radius from it if you weren't looking for Feferi or visiting Karkat or rummaging through dumpsters for spare parts for your beehouse mainframe.

You almost give a start at the memory of Karkat – you can't believe you'd almost forgotten about him. He was your first black crush, one of the street hackers you used to trade information and supplies with when you were barely past wiggler age. You remember him well because he hid his blood color both online and the few times you met in person and it infuriated you to no end. That and his abysmal programming techniques. 

_"Dammit, you fuckface, why don't you wear anything other than black and gray, I'm a fucking lowblood too and you don't see me getting all ashamed over it. And that is the shittiest code I've ever seen, let me see that before you blow up your own husktop."_

_"You have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. My Bees Are My Matesprit, you just don't understand my mad hacking skills."_

You never did find out what color his eyes transitioned into, because before he was old enough for you to tell, he disappeared completely. His Trollian handle just flickered to gray one day and never came back on, right during the turmoil of the Alternian empire collapse. You figured he just got culled. It happens. But thinking about him now, you can't help but miss him a little. 

You miss your bees too, now that you're dusting off your nostalgia receptors. When you were offered your government position, one of the caveats was that you use universally regulated technology, which excluded, of course, ~ATH and your bees. The universal programming language selected by the higher-ups was freaking Java, of all things, which, as you quickly realized after you easily learned it, has much simpler syntax than ~ATH but mind-numbingly uninteresting capabilities. Which is really all you care about. Your skill in ~ATH has been a valuable asset over the sweeps, however, for try as they might, the government can't crush the underground network of troll hackers that favor it. It has practically limitless destructive power when used correctly, and fortunately for you the humans are utterly incompetent at dealing with it. An infinite loop in Java might overheat a computer; the equivalent in ~ATH could rip the space-time continuum.

Feferi's directions were as simple as they sounded, and you step off memory lane and onto the stoop of what is unmistakably The Oinkbeast's Nug before you're really fully prepared. She was right, there's no mistaking it — the hand-painted Oinkbeast stares down at you judgmentally from a splintering wooden sign, which is attached by two chains to a metal pole and swings ominously in the light breeze. The name of the bar itself is crudely written right underneath in bright red letters. You peek inside, blinking as your eyes adjust to the dim light and smoky atmosphere. Has Eridan really stooped so low as to come to a place like this? Growing up, you remember him only as a shadow by Feferi's side, sneering at every move you made and always impeccably dressed in shades of royal purple, never without his long, billowing cape. You can hardly imagine him going into a bar in general, much less one so seedy. You shrug. It suits you fine, at least — might as well get a drink while you get briefed. Maybe it'll make him minimally more tolerable somehow.

You call the bartender over with a wave of your IGC card  and order a honeyblend grubwhiskey, on the rocks, extra honey if he wouldn't mind too terribly. The bartender gives you a nod and only a slightly suspicious glance at your credit card before asking if you'll have your tab open or closed. Good. You don't need any questions right now. Drawing attention to your government position would only spell trouble in a place like this, and you stand out enough with your uniform as it is. At least it's mostly black. It's standard issue for uniformed trolls to display their blood color in some fashion, but they're usually understanding of subtlety in the case of lowbloods like you. Really, it's not as if you're jumping up and down to advertise your status as a mustardblood, and Aradia, at the very bottom of the hemospectrum, is even less inclined to parade around in a rust-colored uniform. Equius and Nepeta would probably be fine in more prominent displays of blood color if they were so inclined, Equius especially, but for the sake of crew unity they accepted the black uniforms without complaint, the only signal of status the appropriate symbol sewn onto the breast pocket. You trace your fingers contemplatively over the raised thread now as you wait for your drink, scanning the bar for a hint of that telltale violet you remember so horribly well from your childhood. You're having trouble spotting him for some reason, which is odd because he should really stick out like a sore thumb. Any others with a decent enough blood color to show it off here are no higher than Jadeblood, at best.

And suddenly, you see him.

"Look," you hear him say to a gruff-looking brownblood who has him pushed up against the wall, fist clenched tightly in the collar of his silly cape, "why don't we be reasonable about this for a moment?"

The brownblood looks as if his idea of the word "reasonable" would be to just break Eridan's nose, rather than both his legs. You sigh. Begrudgingly auspistizing between a bar thug and your wigglerhood flushcrush's obnoxious moirail isn't really in your job description, but you really do need a brief on the blackout and it'll be a lot harder for him to give you helpful information with missing limbs or a smashed face. As soon as it arrives, you force yourself to down your drink and head for the corner of the room, where a small crowd has already gathered.

As you step up next to them, you ready a thread of psionic energy, just for security. You're not supposed to use your psionics against citizens except under extreme circumstances (which  _is_  in fact part of your job description) but you have a feeling that a potential life in danger probably qualifies as extreme enough. The brownblood looks at you, and man, are those some mean-looking horns. He could gouge an eye out, easily. You swallow. Ashen was never your favorite quadrant — you're far too judgmental, which doesn't mesh very well with mediation.

"Sol," Eridan hisses at you. "What are you doin' here?" You'd almost forgotten about his stupid wavy accent, but you could never forget your least favorite nickname for yourself.  

"Saving your ass, apparently," you respond dryly. You regret it already. He's got a nice bruise blooming on his cheek, at least — it matches his cape perfectly. You wonder what he did to get a giant brownblood so pissed off.

"Who the hell 'r you?" the brownblood says, a hint of confusion in his voice as he notices the sigil on your uniform. "D' the metro police send twigs instead o' security trolls now?"

You resent that. You're not  _that_  skinny, especially now that you're eating more than every couple of days. "Actually," you say, your brain suddenly hatching an idea. Who says you need to auspistize at all? "I've come to take over your job for you. I thought fishbreath here should be picked on by someone his own size." You wink and Eridan huffs, clearly offended. Does he really not realize the position he's in right now? Jesus. You're hoping it's just a convincing act until he actually starts to opens his mouth to protest, so you kick him in the shin to shut him up. This proves to be an effective method, for instead he merely emits a rather amusing, high-pitched whine.

The brownblood, however, narrows his eyes in suspicion. "He your kismesis or summin'? Fine, you can handle 'im, but only if you give 'im the ass-kickin' he deserves. Seadweller scum," he adds lowly. Ah, a troll after your own bloodpusher.

"Will do," you say briskly, giving Eridan a look of utter loathing that isn't very difficult to dramatize for your audience. Somebody catcalls. You carefully replace the brownblood's beefy hands around Eridan's collar with your own, and tug him towards a shadowy corner of the bar, where your conversation won't be overheard.  

"What the everflushed fuck do you think you're doin'?" he hisses at you once you're out of ear of the bar crowd. 

"Jesus, can you not look a gift hoofbeast in the mouth? You're even worse than you were when you were a piss-ugly wiggler, and boy were you obnoxious then."

"I was not ugly!" he sniffs. "And if I'm still obnoxious, you're still a jerk! Fef always liked me more than you, admit it."

"You don't even know me," you say, hand tightening on his collar. Someone yells at you to get a room, but you ignore them. "Besides," you continue, "were you absent in basic troll sex-ed class? Do you even understand the concept of quadrants, or are you that romantically obtuse? You're her moirail, not her matesprit. We were never even contending for the same role."

"Yeah, whatever," he says, glancing at his feet in an entirely too dismissively fashion. 

"Oh my god," you say with dawning realization, completely losing the reason you pulled him over to talk in the first place. "You're trying to flip quadrants on her. She said you've been acting all emo lately, and this is the reason, isn't it? Fuck, FF  _really_ doesn't need any of your bullshit right now. She's got way too much on her plate to deal with that sort of petty wiggler nonsense."

"Don't you fuckin' tell me what Fef needs," Eridan says snidely. "I would think that, as her moirail and co-captain, I would know. She's totally been wantin' to flip on me anyway, it's all her, not me."

"That's a fucking lie," you snap. What  _are_  you actually supposed to be talking to him about again? Whatever. Who cares. "I know FF," you continue. "She would never."

"Yeah, right, who's the petty wiggler now?" Eridan says. "Your flushed fling is long over an' you just won't admit it to yourself."

His words sting. "Fuck you," you say dispassionately, releasing his collar shoving him against the nearby wall. You turn away. Did that drink go to your head or something? You've barely been talking for five minutes and somehow this asshole's already gotten to you. 

"Look," he says, sighing and running a hand over his perfectly styled hair. "I know you didn't come here to try to fill a caliginous quadrant with me, as much as I'm flattered by the thought—"

"Fuck off—"

"Let me finish! So touchy. Anyway, I assume Fef sent you here, didn't she? Is this about the blackout?"

Shit, how could you have even forgotten? It irks you to know that he could throw you so far off your game, when you usually pride yourself so well at staying professional in situations like this. And then that he would be the one to remind you why you're here? The sheer audacity of it almost makes you want to grab him by the collar again and shake him around a bit, maybe call the brownblood over and have him kick him a little, but somehow you manage to refrain.

"...Yeah, that's why I'm here," you manage, swallowing your pride diplomatically. You give yourself a mental pat on the back. 

"Alright," he says. Somehow, even with a swollen cheek you can tell he's got his business face on now. "Well. It's a pretty big clusterfuck. The mainframe for all the charging ports an' takeoff/landing regulation software in the station has pretty much shut down and although folks like Fef are  _callin'_ it a blackout this isn't your usual tree-fell-on-a-power-line deal. This is some serious shit, and it's definitely either troll or human caused."

Dammit. This is not something you want to deal with right now. If someone's deliberately shut down the software, then..."Someone's trying to keep a ship here on Metropiter."

"Exactly," Eridan says. "It's a big fuckin' mess, really. I got some insider information that it might be the work of an underground organization that's sprouted up here in the last couple years — one a' those vigilante deals, you know — an' all I could get about their members was that one a' them was a brownblood that frequents this bar, with big curved horns." You groan.

"I wouldn't suppose that was the troll that had you pinned against the wall earlier?"

"Nope, which is why he was so pissed off. Apparently didn't really appreciate the insinuations. So now I'm at a bit of a dead end. I can still give you the rest of what I've got up until now, though."

"Alright," you say resignedly. "Tell me everything you know."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Animorphs and Harry Potter references? In MY fanfiction? I would never. (Bet you can't spot them.)


	3. Chapter 3

Several hours and countless drinks later, you're no closer to a permanent solution for the problem but you've sent out a signal that will put a temporary hold on it, at least until morning. Thank the stars your transmitter can remote into your husktop. Eridan watches you as you type the last few lines, obviously impressed despite himself. You can't help but smirk a little.

"You're just typin' all that code from memory?" he asks disbelievingly. "Don't have to look it up or anyfin?" Those goddamn fish puns. They sound so adorable when FF uses them, but in Eridan's mouth it's like a human trying to use Alternian slang. Just...obnoxious. Shit, and now you're falling back into caliginous territory... you should really stop drinking. Instead of doing so, you down the rest of your fifth (sixth? seventh?) grubwhiskey. apparently, you're feeling especially rebellious towards your common sense tonight.

"Yeah, obviously," you say, holding back a hiccup. "What kind of professional hacker do you think I am?"

Eridan snorts, straightening his cape with one hand. "'Professional hacker,' right," he says, making airquotes. "More like lowly spacewide tech support. Face it, you're basically a hoofbeast for the IG."

"Shove off," you say, demonstrating the action halfheartedly on his arm. Dammit, you hope he didn't take that as flirting? Or do you? Okay, stopping this train of thought....

He looks at you as if you grew a second head (you wish) and you hurriedly look around for something to occupy yourself with. Another grubwhiskey, perhaps?

"Shit, Sollux, er, do you..." Fortunately, you don't get to hear the end of whatever question you definitely don't want to answer, because an oliveblood is suddenly encroaching into your personal space, leaning around Eridan to peer coquettishly at his face.

"Hey, handsome," she says, batting her eyes and putting her empty drink down on the counter in front of him. "Lookin' for trouble, huh?" He looks at you in a panic, and you just stare at the both of them unhelpfully. You're too drunk for this shit. You try to flag down the bartender instead. 

"Er," he says, giving up on any chance of your assistance, "actually, I was just in the middle of somefin..."

"Oh yeah, sure, that's what they all say," she says, rolling her eyes dismissively. "This guy's not with you, right? Is he booothering you?"

"Uh, no, actually, he's..."

"Come on, I'll admit I've got one quadrants full, but black's all empty! Who knew I'd find a seadweller  _here,_ of all places! Must be my lucky day, right? My boyf...um, matesprit's gonna freak!" She grabs at his arm, then makes a puzzled face and attempts to grip it harder. Jesus, you've never seen a troll fail so spectacularly at kismesissitude. You almost feel sorry for her. Obviously one of those cases where you focus on one quadrant for too long and get rusty in all the others. Based on her behavior, you'd hasten a guess that her matesprit is a human — they tend to make trolls go soft. Normal red troll-troll relationships will threaten to vacillate to black often enough to keep everyone involved on their toes. As it should be. 

"Christ, am I going to have to save you  _again_  from an unwanted hateflirt? What the hell is up with you?" you say out of the corner of your mouth, vaguely amused and completely distracted from your important task of getting another grubwhiskey.

"I don't know," Eridan whines, trying to free himself from the olivebloods grasp and failing spectacularly as she begins to gain confidence with the apparently difficult exercise of holding onto the arms of trolls. "It's an ongoin' problem, I swear."

"I bet," you say, scoffing. 

"It is!"

"Okay, okay." You stand up a little too quickly from your teetering barstool and stumble a little as you right yourself and turn to face the oliveblood. You clear your throat. "Hey," you say at her. "Back off, would you?"

As expected, she turns to you all teeth and claw. Bad at kismesissitude or not, no troll will willingly back down from a potential quadrant. Especially a drunk one.

"What do  _you_  want?" she snaps.

"Oh, nothing, just my—" you almost swallow the words down, they're so difficult to say, but you have to, you feel compelled to save him again for some reason, "—kismesis back, if you would."

Eridan turns about seven shades of purple at once, it's rather impressive. The oliveblood, however, completely ignores this and turns towards you, relinquishing her grip on Eridan's arm. He rubs it gratefully. Sissy.

"Your kismesis? Yeah right!" she says with a squeal of laughter. "A lowly mustardblood like you? You wouldn't have a chance!"

You neglect to mention that she's hardly one to talk, only a single step above you on the hemospectrum, and instead send a lazy spark of psionics towards her.

"Ow!" she says, suddenly fearful, slapping a hand to her neck. Whoops. Might have been a little too strong. Oh well.

"I told you to back off. " You let the psionic currents dance a little behind your tinted lenses, just for intimidation purposes. She's not threatening enough to actually use the brunt of them, just irritating. Fortunately, she goes all wide-eyed right on cue, and puts her hands up in surrender in the face of your little display.

"Fine, jeez! Didn't realize this was such a big issue!" You back off a little at this but keep your guard up, just in case she's bluffing. She's not. She dashes off to another corner of the bar as soon as you've stepped away, presumably to display her caliginous ineptitude to yet another victim. Lord. 

"Well," you say, letting the sparks dim from your eyes and rubbing your forehead. "That's taken care of." Using psionics is draining enough when you're sober, and being drunk and rusty isn't the best combination, even when doing something this minimal. When you look over at Eridan to see how he's faring, you find him staring at you unblinkingly. "...What?" you say, vaguely unnerved.

"Are you fuckin' serious," he mumbles, almost more to himself than as a response to you. "Life's not fuckin' fair."

"Er," you say, choosing to ignore this comment. "Anyway, I should probably go find my crew. The signal block will hold up until morning, so if any emergency flights need to be made before then you can tell FF that they'll be able to do it, it'll just be a bit more risky since there's no telling whether, and when, the hackers will be able to get through the block. Obviously the block is only to buy time anyway, which I'm going to need a lot of, so can you also ask her to put my other jobs on hold for now, at least until this problem is fixed?" 

"I'll let her know." Eridan is oddly subdued. You glance at him.

"...Thanks." You ask for your tab and pay it (...good lord, can you really write this off as work expenses?) then exit the bar, a few trolls that are gathered in the doorway chatting moving hastily out of your way. As you leave, you catch a last look at Eridan, sitting at the far end of the bar, expression hidden by shadows and nursing the last of his drink. You feel a strange twist of pity for him in the center of your gut, but brush it off immediately. Now that is one troll you don't even want to attempt to put in a quadrant, as if his delusions about Feferi weren't enough of a warning sign. You've already gone dangerously close to two different quadrants (including ashen, of all things) with him tonight and if you start feeling a hint of flush you're going to send yourself straight back to grubschool where you obviously belong.

You shake your head, trying to clear your mind, and distract yourself by concentrating on calling Aradia on your transmitter, listen for the telltale click of her picking up. It's not working, you feel even drunker now that you're out walking around. "AA?"

"Sollux! I was starting to get worried."

"I'm fine. Just ran into a bit of trouble at the bar. Things got a little...slippery, if you catch my drift. Ehehe."

"...Are you drunk? Sollux! I thought you were getting briefed!" You cringe. You forget sometimes that Aradia can flip from partner in crime to disapproving lusus mode in a millisecond.

"It was a bar, what was I supposed to do?" you say defensively. "Anyway I did get briefed. Wrote codes and everything. Wasn't my fault fishface's stupid quadrant drama was driving me to alcoholism." 

"Honestly? Are you gonna go to down that road with him? Jesus, Sollux, maybe you should go to a Kismebrothel while you're here. Get your standards back in check."

"My standards are fine as they are, thanks," you say grumpily. "It was all for work, anyway. Totally professional. Needed to get a couple meddlers off his back."

"Sure you did." You can almost hear her roll her eyes. "Anyway, what's going on?"

"Just checking in. Did you guys find a hotel okay?"

"We did! It's super nice, wait until you see it. Bit too nice for our tastes, honestly." She laughs. "I feel like the trolls we used to make fun of as wrigglers."

"Don't I know it," you say, almost unhappily. "Well, send me the coordinates and I'll be there soon."

"On it."

You wait a moment, and your transmitter's GPS gives three short beeps.

"Got them, thanks...wow, that neighborhood, huh? You weren't kidding when you said it was too nice."

"I know, I know," she sighs. "But you knew Feferi would insist we get the best. Come on, hurry up, I want to hear the whole story about these 'meddlers' you defended dear Eridan's virtue against."

You almost protest, but you can hear the gentle teasing in her voice and know she isn't being serious. "As if that gillbreather has a single scrap of virtue to defend," you say instead, with a snicker.

"Cut it out with the spades, you're gonna make me sick," Aradia groans.

"Sorry. He's just...easy to make fun of." Dammit.

"Can't disagree with you there. See you soon though, okay?"

"Okay. Pale for you," you add, after a moment.

"You too," she says obligingly. "Just get your drunk butt over here."

"Ok, AA. Got it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins the saga of drunk Sollux, installment 1 of 1 zillion.


	4. Chapter 4

The hotel is so fancy you practically have to shove your honorary tealblood ID down the guards’ throats before they’ll let you past the front gates. And then you allow it to be inspected thoroughly for authenticity. And then you have to name drop Feferi, very obviously and loudly, to make them hurry the fuck up. It's a wonder Aradia was allowed in at all. 

"This place is ridiculous," you say decisively as you step onto the plush carpet of your gigantic hotel room. Each king-size recuperacoon is sectioned off with giant, soft purple curtains, the color of the royalty that likely usually stays in places like these. They're currently drawn to the side and tied off with thick golden rope. The recuperacoons have a span of tile surrounding them, presumably to prevent spillage onto the fancy carpet — and in fact, the second you touch it, a flustered rustblood servant almost sends you sprawling trying to remove your shoes while you're still standing.

"Pardon me, pardon me," she says frantically, struggling to pull off something that very obviously needs to be unlaced first.

"Cut that out," you snap, wavering on one foot. "I can take off my own damn shoes." She blanches, and you immediately regret it. Poor girl probably doesn't know what to do with the four of you. Not her usual guest fare, you would guess.

"I'm sorry, er, sir," she stutters. "I'll take my leave now." With a bow, she absconds as fast as she can, clicking the heavy oak door of your room shut behind her.

Aradia gives you a leveling stare. "Nice." You flinch. You know Aradia's especially sensitive to the uncomfortable amount of rustbloods remaining in servile roles, being one herself, and treating fellow lowbloods like the servants they shouldn’t be in this day and age certainly isn’t helping anything. 

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm being a really shitty moirail today, fuck."

"You're not," she says, knee-jerk. Then her eyes soften. "You're just stressed. And drunk."

"That's not an excuse."

"It's not, but it's a reason. Come here, doofus, and cuddle with me." She pats the couch next to her, and you flop down gratefully, threading your hand in hers. Equius and Nepeta are already occupying the adjacent armchair in a tangle of green and blue. 

"So what happened? Did you fix the issue?"

"No, but I managed to block it until morning. Unfortunately, according to Eridan, it was a deliberate hack to keep one of the docked ships from taking off. Probably Feferi’s, but it’s all a guessing game at this point. One of you will have to go through the records tomorrow, see what they're carrying and make sure all the inventories are intact."

"With your approval, I would be happy to take on that task, Captain," Equius says, raising himself up slightly from the armchair. "I have already extensively documented the existing ships in the landing dock in case the information was needed, and all I will need to do is cross-check."

"Smart thinking," you say, arching your eyebrows in surprise. "Well done. I'll leave that task to you, then." He nods, obviously pleased at the acknowledgement.

"We've got another problem too," you continue. “Eridan was following a lead that pointed him towards a possible cause of the blackout — some sort of new underground organization that recently formed in Metropiter. He even got a description of a member, but unfortunately had hit a dead end by the time I met up with him."

“This dead end wouldn’t be that trouble you were alluding to earlier, would it?" Aradia asks.

"Yeah. He'd heard the troll was a brownblood with big horns who frequented the bar I met him at — the Oinkbeast’s Nug. But he interrogated the wrong troll."

Aradia giggles. "And then you had to rescue him. Poor fishface didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. So _that's_ what happened."

"That's the short of it, yeah. But now I'm kind of at a loss for what to do. Detective work isn't exactly my forte, and—" 

"Wait," Nepeta says suddenly. “A brownblood with giant horns…who’s always the Oinkbeast’s Nug?"

"Um, yes? Do you know him or something?"

"Actually," she says, "I think I might. Not in real life though! Um... online."

You know Nepeta frequents a few web roleplaying forums, and you and Aradia have always tended to roll your eyes and tolerate it when she's up late hours typing furiously or accidentally referring to herself in third person. And she's said it before: "RP connections could be useful someday! They could!" 

In the past, your response to these claims has been mostly dismissive... but maybe you should rethink that.

"You know him? Are you serious? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, AC is...um, I mean, I'm pretty sure! I've RP'd with him a bunch of times! His handle when I knew him was adiosToreador." 

"Anything else you know?" This is almost to good to be true, if it pans out.

"Ummm, let me think," she saying, furrowing her brow. "He would always host chats with someone called TC—terminallyCapricious or something—who was either a crazy highblood or was lying about his blood color. What else...I don't think the brownblood is very big. Actually, he has kind of a height complex, if I remember right."

That's the first strike for Eridan, you think. That russetblood was about ten feet tall. 

"Okay," you say, nodding to yourself. "I'll look into their handles and see what I can find. Thanks, Nepeta." She nods, grinning from ear to ear. And now, unusually, the only one who hasn't contributed to the search directly is Aradia.

"Hey, Sollux," she says quietly, as if reading your thoughts. "Let me go back to that bar tomorrow and see what I can find. I can borrow some civilian clothes, and with my blood color there's no way I'll stand out."

Your first instinct is to tell her no, you should go with her. But that's ridiculous. Aradia can handle herself, probably better than you can. 

"...Okay," you say deferentially. Starting a it's-not-safe argument won't win you any favors right now. "I'll go back to the landing port instead and concentrate on working on a more permanent fix for the blackout."

"For now, though," she says, squeezing your hand, "get some sleep. And drink some water, or you'll be too hungover tomorrow to work on anything."

"Right, I'll do that," you say distractedly. "But... let me just send a quick message to FF first about the cargo stuff, in case any ships need to take off during the night, you know, could be an issue..." You trail off, tapping furiously into your transmitter.

" _Sollux._ "

"Fine, fine, drinking," you grumble, getting up and going to the sink. Once you make sure your crew has everything they need and double-check that Feferi has received your message, you draw the curtains around your recuperacoon and strip off your uniform, dropping it into an adjacent basket, then slip into the luxuriously warm sopor slime. Pre-heated, and...yup, it's got its own thermostat. Oh, to taste how the other side lives. You roll your eyes as you sink in, but you can't really bring yourself to be snarky about your situation. It just feels too damn good. And of course, within seconds, you are asleep.

***

You hear Aradia's name telling you it's time to wake up as if she's speaking through high-quality sopor slime. Oh. Which she is. You'll never get used to uncut sopor, you swear. You feel your air bladder slowly returning back to normal functions as you come out of your hibernative sleep state and rise to the surface of the recuperacoon, wiping your eyes. The light in the room, however, is incredibly bright, and as soon as you clear them of sopor slime you immediately squeeze them shut again. You didn't get _that_ drunk, did you? You drank water and everything!

"Ugh," you say. 

Aradia giggles. "Regretting your night of black debauchery?" 

You lower yourself slowly back into the warm sopor. "No. It was valuable intel. Plus all my drinks were covered as a work expense, so there." You bury your face in the crook of your arm, hiding from the light.

"What about your hateflirting? Was that valuable intel?"

"Go away. I was drunk," you say. "And can you turn off that light? What the hell do we need light for anyway, we can see in the dark perfectly fine."

"Oh, I'm sorry, is it hurting your eyes?" Aradia says, not sounding sorry at all. 

"You're certainly sarcastic today."

"Oh, it's all in good fun, stop being such a grubface and go take a shower." She pokes you in the head and you look up at her, squinting. She's already dressed in her civilian clothes.

"Five more minutes," you say, shutting your eyes again.

"Are you _really_ going to pull this again?"

" _Fiine._ "

***

When you finally arrive at the landing port, it's even more hectic than you'd remembered it being. And THAT situation certainly hadn't been anything to shake a poke branch at. You peek at your transmitter and notice a file send request from Feferi: "008143_Current_ship_tally.xml (1.2 MB)" She's been busy. Probably all night. That's not a good sign. 

"Sollux! Thank goodness!" she calls breathlessly, running unsteadily towards you as soon as you come into view. It's worse than you feared — she looks like she hasn't slept for a week — the bags under her eyes are darker than yours after a three-day coding binge, and that's saying something.

"How are you doing?" you ask her carefully, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder once she gets near enough. 

"I'm fine, but oh, It's just a mess, really!" she says, leaning against you gratefully. You can feel her knees shaking. "I've been up all night tallying inventory for the ships that had to take off before morning — thank you so much for putting that temporary block on, and for tipping me off about the cargo, by the way, it really saved us — but now that the block's lifted everyone's gone super nuts, I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't gotten here!"

"FF, you know," you say, eying her, "this really isn't your job. You should get back on your ship and get some sleep. When was the last time you had a nice soak in sopor slime?"

"Oh, but I can't!" she says, clapping a delicate hand over her mouth. "My subjects, I mean, um, the fleet members, they...they need me here to help! What would they do if..." She looks like she's about two seconds from passing out at the thought of finishing her sentence in any intelligible fashion. 

You put your hands on both of her quivering shoulders and look her straight in her eyes. From this close, you can see the translucent film of wriggler black that still cloaks the fuchsia coming in beneath. It reminds you how young she is. How young you both still are. "Feferi," you say, your voice betraying your concern. "Repeat after me. 'I am not an empress anymore. The fleet can handle itself while I get some sleep.'"

"I'm not an empress anymore...the fleet can...." Her voice wavers. "But Sollux, I..."

"Come on," you say quietly. "Get to your ship. Where the hell is your moirail when you need him?" Comforting Feferi is starting to stray a little too far towards a quadrant Aradia squarely occupies, but you suppose desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Havin' fun playin' pale with my moirail?" a wavery voice hisses into your ear.

"Eridan!" Feferi says happily, instantly perking up. "I was afraid you got lost!"

"Me? Never," he says edgily. "And as much as I hate to agree with Lispy McBuzzbrain over here, you should really get some sleep. Hivecomb hugger and I can handle things."

"You wouldn't mind terribly toning it down with the insipidly unnecessary nicknames, would you?" you say to him, unamused.

"I certainly would. After you left me in that bar, it took me all night of wanderin' to get back here. Look, I tore my cape," he whines, showing you a microscopic rip in the fabric.

You aren't sure how to respond to that other than straight up punching him, but fortunately Feferi speaks before you can make a move.

"Poor guppy! So you DID get lost," she says, patting him placatingly on the head. "You should have messaged me, I was worried sick!"

"My transmitter died," he says, slightly bashfully. Good. You have never seen a more pathetic excuse for a troll in your entire life, he'd _better_ be ashamed. Feferi gives the base of his horns a scratch while you look on in sheer revulsion, and then she heads back to her ship, thank the lord. Now it's just you, alone with this fishdick. Again. 

And of course, as soon as Feferi is out of sight, he nearly collapses at your feet, bemoaning his tired tired legs and pounding head and lack of very important beauty sleep due to his nighttime adventure. Had he thought he'd been putting on a manly display for her? If so, you're far too amused to correct him.

"Well," you say instead, "Equius should be here soon to go over ship inventory with you. Did FF send you the tally from the night, too?"

"The what?" he says, looking at you blankly. His dead transmitter, which he pulls from his pocket, also looks at you blankly. You make the snap decision between lending him yours and facepalming hard enough to give yourself a concussion, and begrudgingly pass your transmitter to him. Instead of injuring yourself, you opt to instead heave a heavy sigh as a coping mechanism.

"Borrow this until I get yours charged. And I swear on my lusus, if you change a single setting I will break all your fucking fingers."

"Fine, got it, jeez, so stingy," he grumbles. "And after I caught you being all pale with Fef. You HARDLY have the right to ask me anything."

"I only did that because you were uselessly wandering around Metropiter all night with a dead transmitter instead of helping her, and she was at the edge of a breakdown!" you snap. "Jesus, I can't even imagine a shittier moirail."

He looks as if he's about to protest again, then droops his head suddenly, his mouth snapping shut. "I know," he says quietly. "Thanks. For being there for her." You stare at him in disbelief, and his cheeks flush with magenta. "What?"

"Nothing." You shake your head. "You must feel _really_ terrible if you're actually admitting I'm right."

"You have no idea." His mouth twitches in a way that could almost be a smile, in some alternate universe. Perhaps in one with people who had seen them on TV but still didn't quite understand how they worked. Fortunately, you're soon distracted from this odd train of thought by Equius, who appears suddenly in front of you with a long list of crossed and re-written items. The margins are scribbled with notes. 

"Equius," you moan, "you didn't tell me you'd been tallying this all on paper."

"Yes, Captain. I mean, does that upset you, sir? If so I will retype it into my transmitter immediately. I have already transferred Feferi's tallies from the night onto this list, per your request, but if you so desire I can reverse this—perhaps, add onto her virtual tally—"

"Equius! Stop!" you say. You think you might be developing a headache to rival Eridan's. "It's fine. Do whatever you want. Just make sure it's accurate."

"I am always precise. Sir," he adds. He seems offended that you would insinuate otherwise.

You sigh. "I know you are. Now, Eridan here is going to help you while I connect to the mainframe and try to fix the problem from the inside. It's going to need a lot of concentration so don't bother me unless it's really important, okay?"

"Understood. I will contact you in the case of urgent matters only."

"Great."

You pull your husktop out of your backpack as soon as you get to the transmission station, stroking the yellow and black cover with distracted reverence. It's really all that reminds of your beehive mainframe, and the saddest part is that it's hardly a shadow of your former setup. They didn't even let you keep the original hardware once you started your employment, just stripped it down to the basics, not much more than the shell remaining, then refilled it with shiny new government-regulated parts. They would have replaced the whole thing, just skipped the hassle and issued you an earth-standard laptop instead, but you threw a little bit of a fit at the notion, even called up Feferi for help, so they finally backed down. Each hard-earned nick and scratch on the unibody is illuminated by the dim light of the mainframe when you plug it in, a row of indicator lights flashing red and blue. Ah, familiarity. 

You start tapping away as soon as you're connected, searching for data backups and access logs that might give you a hint towards the blackout cause, security bypass...anything suspicious, really, you're not picky. You think you've almost gotten something — shit, there's a firewall though — and Equius's voice suddenly cuts your concentration.

"Captain? Sir?"

You swear under your breath. "Equius, this had better be important. I might have been getting somewhere."

"It is critical knowledge, as per your request, sir."

"Alright," you say begrudgingly. "What is it?"

"We discovered some inventory discrepancies, sir. Some items appear to be missing from one of the cargo ships."

"Did you figure out which items?" Depending on what it is, it might not even give you any clues, but...

"It was a pharmaceutical ship, bound for Meribee. Several different types of medicines and pharmaceutical drugs were taken. Shall I list their names for you?"

"Fucking Meribee, are you serious? No, no, that's okay, I won't know what the hell they are by their official inventory names anyway. Call Aradia, though — this is more her area, she might be able to figure it out." She'd had a short stint herself in a service role with the elderly (both highblood troll and human), and handled a lot of prescriptions. You have a suspicion that access to drugs and the opportunity to study their effects was the only reason she took the job at all. You know for a fact there's a huge list meticulously recorded, along with their street names if they have one, in her tiny notebook.

While Equius calls her and Eridan flits around uselessly with your transmitter (what the hell is he doing) you manage to circumvent the firewall and trace a particularly suspicious-looking IP address to a location not too far from the Oinkbeast's Nug. Of course. You quickly set a targeted block on it, prohibiting anything from that IP to cause any more damage than they already have, just in case they're your guys. Then, with another moment of thought, you start putting some extra security measures in around the mainframe. Not only was the firewall disturbingly easy to break through, access to the mainframe from remote locations definitely shouldn't be possible, and if you're reading this right, that's exactly what happened. No wonder a couple street trolls caused so much damage.

You compile your changes and making sure you didn't break anything with a stray quote or curly brace (it never ceases to amaze you how often it happens, even at your level) and on a hunch you check the logs for changes made to the mainframe codebase within the past week from that IP, just in case they didn't cover their tracks. And...you almost groan from it being this obvious. Shoddy, shoddy hacking. You thank the stars for version control, pulling down and restoring to a local version from before their changes were made. And then you install _even more_ security, because it shouldn't even be this easy to fix let alone break. Ugh. You should talk to FF about getting better tech support for this sector. 

The second you re-compile, push your code, and do a quick scan of the system to make sure everything's working, you grab Eridan, who's still poking at your transmitter aimlessly while Equius does all the work.

"Hey, watch it," he says distractedly. He's playing some silly wiggler game, of course. Wait a second...

"Did you actually download a fucking _game_ onto my transmitter?"

"I was bored," he says grumpily. "Equius was doin' fine by himself. Besides, I can't read his cod-awful handwritin'."

"I lent that to you so you could help, not so you could ignore your job and play grubsmasher all day. You are so fucking useless, Christ!" 

"Well I bet you didn't figure out the problem yet, did you?" he bites back.

"Actually," you say, with smug satisfaction, "I did. You wouldn't mind informing Feferi, would you? Or do you need me to do that for you as well?"

"I can do it," he snaps. You can tell that one bruised his pride. "Here's your fuckin' transmitter back. I hope I gave you a hundred viruses."

The second he's out of sight, you (somewhat shamefully) inspect your transmitter for any hint of damage, refusing to let out a breath until you know you're in the clear. You get a call from Feferi as you're carefully cleaning the fingerprint smudges off your screen with a corner of your uniform.

"FF, hi, I hope you've been napping."

"Yes, I feel so much better, and even more so to have woken up to such great news! I hear you fixed it!"

"I did," you say, smiling, even though she can't see it. "Installed a bunch of extra security too, so it doesn't happen again. You'll need to find a decent tech person I can trust with the new access codes and such."

"Oh, I will! Sorry I'm wasting so much of your time."

"It's no problem. Actually...I don't know if Equius has mentioned this to you yet, but he already found inventory discrepancies from one of the ships that left overnight."

"Well, I guess it was a good thing I stayed up to tally!" she says. "Should I have the local police look into it? What was the cargo?"

"A bunch of pharmaceuticals. I'll have Equius send you an exact list. Actually, though..." You could go back to Alternia right now, pretend this all never happened, splurge a bit with your overtime cash, but...you make a split-second decision. "I would sort of prefer to investigate this with my crew. I'm already kind of involved in the situation, after all, and you know how I like to see these things to the end."

"Oh, Sollux." You can almost hear her biting her lip at the notion. "That's not really part of your job."

You let out a breathy sound of amusement. "You sound like me, FF. I'll be fine."

"I know you will! I just don't want you to get into trouble over it!" _**I** don't want to get into trouble over it._ She would never say it outright, but you can hear it under her words of worry, and you suddenly feel bad for even making the suggestion.

"Look," you say with a sigh. "You're right. I'll just go back to Alternia for a while. Close by, just in case you need me here again."

There's a silence on the other end of the line, and you wonder what she's thinking. "Actually," she says, "I've got a big meeting in Central tomorrow. I was planning on leaving Eridan here to keep an eye on the situation while I was gone... I'll feel a lot better about you investigating this further, if that's really what you want to do, if you take him along with you and your crew."

It takes all your willpower not to ask why. You haven't seen him display a single ounce of usefulness since you first met him.

"...Fine." Damn your curiosity. Maybe you can keep him distracted so he doesn't get in the way. You reluctantly accept that you may have to relinquish control over your transmitter again sometime soon for the sake of diplomacy — you have a feeling that killing his transmitter battery is something he does on a regular basis. 

"Great!" she says. "I'll tell Eridan. Do you want him to go back with you now? If you do, that would be great — the sooner I can get to Central, the better. I don't _really_ need to be there until at least the afternoon, but it will be so good for human-troll relations if I'm early to a conference for once. I can actually do some networking!" You can imagine nothing worse (short of having Eridan as your co-captain, actually) but she seems happy about it, so you keep your mouth shut. 

"That sounds fine," you say, lying through your fangs. "Make sure he packs his transmitter charger." You feel like his lusus. This is demeaning.

"I will!" Her voice is suddenly muffled, and you hear the familiar sound of warbly seadweller complaints in the background. Off to a good start. Feferi wishes you good luck and says goodbye, saying she'll send Eridan down right away and soon as he packs his necessities, and after what feels like a hundred sweeps you're once again face to face with grumpy gills, this time clutching a bright purple overnight bag embroidered with tiny seahoofbeats in addition to the unwarranted attitude he always carries with him.

You hear hurried footsteps approaching from behind you, followed by a slightly horrified voice. "Lusus in heaven, what is _that_?" Sometimes you truly thank the stars for Aradia. At least you know that if the universe is going insane, she'll be there by your side to make sarcastic comments the whole way. 

"My overnight bag," Eridan mumbles. She looks at it as if considering whether to strangle him with the straps.

"Hi, Aradia," you say bracingly. "I believe you've already met our new temporary crew member?" 

"Sollux," she deadpans, "this is the worst joke you've ever made. And I've dealt with more bee puns than anyone could possibly imagine."

"No joke, AA. We're under strict orders. Straight from FF. He's coming with us as supervision, per the terms of allowing us to continue our investigation outside of our usual jurisdiction. She has a conference in Central, so she's otherwise letting us go forward alone."

"Oh, Feferi," she sighs. Suddenly, a maniacal glint appears in her eyes. "You poor sweet grub, what have you done?"

"You're right," you say slowly, with realization. "What was she thinking, leaving him alone with us?" You exchange identical wicked grins. Eridan looks between you, swallowing, and clutches his overnight bag tighter. He has no idea what he's in for. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then Aradia talks a lot.

"But Fef told me I'm supposed to be in charge," Eridan says, following the three of you like a lost barkbeast as you make your way back to the hotel.

"Well, 'Fef' isn't here, is she?" Aradia says unsympathetically. "You're part of our crew now, you have to follow our rules. Equius was kind enough to pick you up a spare uniform from the ship, so make sure you're wearing it when you're out and not that garish purple ensemble."

"It's a spare one of mine," you say, "so it's got my sigil, but that's probably better anyway. A highblood where we're going will look suspicious, but if they assume you're in a quadrant with me or are unobservant enough not to notice your facial fins they'll be more likely to let it slide. What we don't want to do, basically, is shout your caste to all of Metropiter."

"But the uniform won't match my cape," he says, upset. Appalled, you both just stop and stare at him until he gets it. "No, no, you have to let me wear my cape! I'm naked without it!" 

"Have you been listening to a single word I've been saying?" you say disbelievingly. "You need to fit in. Look like part of the team. It's not that difficult."

"But I'm not part a your team," he insists, rather vehemently. "I'm part a _Fef's_ team. An' Fef says I can wear my cape as much as I want. _She_ thinks it's endearin'." 

"Well," Aradia says. "Maybe we should call Feferi right now and see what she thinks. I'm sure she'd love to be interrupted over a wiggler outfit squabble."

Eridan sticks out his lower lip. "Fine. But only because I don't wanna bother Fef." You look at him, amazed that he actually backed down without more of a fuss. "I've caused her enough trouble," he mumbles, almost too low for you to hear. So he does have an inkling of what an annoying little squawkbeast he is. Interesting. 

You walk together to the hotel where you're staying to meet Nepeta, Equius trailing behind the three of you. As soon as you and Aradia started snapping at Eridan, he immediately vacated the situation. He's a pretty non-confrontational troll, despite his size. You can almost feel him nervously sweating from here. 

"Nepeta says she's prepared everything for our excursion tonight , as per your command, captain," he says hesitantly from your rear. 

"Great. Aradia, I can't believe I made such a big oversight. Sorry I made you waste your time today."

She giggles. "Who knew that underground organizations don't frequent bars in broad daylight though, right? And besides, it's fine. I didn't think of it either, and it gave me a chance to scope out the area."

"What excursion?" Eridan says, looking worried. He clutches his cape around himself as if treasuring his final moments with it. You suppose he's begun to resign himself to his fate. 

"We need to go to your favorite bar again," you say. "It was too early in the day today when Aradia went to check it out, and now that we've been given the green light I figure we should probably all go together anyway." He starts shaking his head as soon as you mention the word "bar," and by the time you're done talking it's little more than a violet blur. 

"No. No. Absolutely not. I'll be murdered by that brownblood if I go back in there."

"A distinct possibility," you say calmly. "Or at least it would be, if we didn't scope it out first to make sure he isn't in there. I'm not exactly the biggest fan of that guy either, so I'd really prefer to do business without anyone I spoke to last night getting on the way. This is also why you're wearing our uniform and not your usual outfit. Actually, on that point, maybe we should be wearing civilian clothes. Aradia, what do you think?"

She taps a finger thoughtfully to the side of her face. "It would definitely help us blend in better. Eridan, do you happen to have any with you that wouldn't totally blow our cover?"

"If by 'civilian' you mean ugly peasant clothes, then no," he says with disdain. You sigh. 

"He'll have to borrow some of mine. He's already going to sully my spare uniform, I suppose he can defile my everyday stuff too."

"I'm very clean, I would hardly defile anything. I should be more afraid of catching nasty buzzbeast hacker germs from you."

"If only that were possible," you shoot back. "And 'hacker germs?' What does that even—" 

"Okay, you two, quit flirting or I'm gonna be sick," Aradia says dryly. 

"We're not flirting," you say in unison, then glare at each other. She snickers.

Eridan looks as if he's working up another retort, but rapidly switches gears once he the electric doors of your hotel room smoothly open in front of him.

"The cod is this room?" he says, incredulous, peering around. "What makes you guys so special, Fef doesn't even go this nice for _us_."

"Obviously my crew is just very valuable," you say dismissively, but you'd had no idea, and it startles you a little. You'd always just assumed that FF was the nurturing type towards everyone, but maybe you mean more to her than you'd really allowed yourself to consider. She just...always seems like she's putting Eridan before you, so you figured you couldn't be too high on the totem pole if you were below this guy. You suppose they did grow up together — it's hard to get rid of a moirail you've had since you were a grub. You'd know the feeling, except you haven't had any issues with yours because Aradia, unlike _some_ trolls, isn't a huge asshole. 

The second you get to your room Nepeta is bounding towards you, taking a flying leap at Equius and attaching to him like a barnacle. Speaking of decent moirails. 

"Pounce and I missed you," she says, pouting, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his head. "We had to play all day here by ourselves."

"NP...were you really just fooling around with Pounce all day?"

She gives you a surprisingly intimidating look of disapproval, for a troll hardly larger than Pounce. "No, silly, we were doing research for our super cool undercover expurrsion! Pounce is a very smart meowbeast. He's been exploring the city since we arrived and he told me all sorts of things we should keep an eye out for tonight."

"Wait, you can talk to him?" Eridan interjects. His tone is layered with disbelief. 

She nods, unfazed. "Of course! Well... it did take me a while with Pounce the Second, because he's got a really weird Merribean accent, but I get most of what he says by now. I guess having a meowbeast lusus was really helpful!"

"This is so unfair," Eridan complains. "You lowbloods get all the cool powers and abilities and us seadwellers just get lungs that don't work properly unless we're underwater. What is even the _point_ of being a highblood without cool powers?"

"Do they really not work as well with air? Interesting," you muse, ignoring his last comment for its utter absurdity. "At any rate, I don't know what you constitute as a 'cool ability' but being able to breath underwater almost definitely falls under that category."

"There's no ocean here though, it doesn't matter," he insists. "Besides, do you know how hard it is to clean sopor out of gills? If it's a power, it's a shitty one."

"No, and I have no desire to imagine it," you say with a grimace. "Nepeta, do you know where we keep our spare sets of civilian clothes on the ship?" A subject change seemed in order.

"I do," she says, with a tone of surprise, "But why does it matter? I brought them all here as soon as we arrived."

"Oh," you say. "Why?"

"Well...I thought they might come in handy, help us fit in and stuff. Did you not know I had them here already? I've got outfits prepared for us tonight, too, based on what Pounce said would be the least obtrusive. Should I put another one together for Eridan?"

"Ah, yes, go ahead. Good foresight," you say, embarrassed that she's about ten steps ahead of you. You suppose you've been a little distracted, between the blackout and having to deal with Eridan. It's really quite impressive that you're functioning at all, now that you think about it. "Did Equius catch you up to speed on why he's here, by the way?"

"Of course!" she chirps, hopping off her shoulder perch to rifle through a bag of clothes you somehow hadn't noticed before now. "Eridan, do you mind wearing Sollux's sigil on your shirt, by the way? I could sew yours over it in a pinch, but it's probably best to steer clear of seadweller symbols in the area we're going to if we want to keep a low profile." 

"Told you," you say to him lowly. He makes a face. "What? Do you _want_ to get beaten up again?"

"No." It's almost instantaneous. "That's fine." Nepeta grins, and digs out an outfit you're sure he's going to complain about — those pants haven't fit you in sweeps. But to your surprise, he lights up at the sight of them and pulls them on right away behind your recuperacoon curtain. "These are great. Vintage, huh? And they fit perfectly!" You've never seen him so pleased. He even accepts a shirt without complaint, with your sigil hand-sewn over the chest pocket. 

Your pants look way too tight on him, but you're certainly not going to say anything to pull him out of this good mood. You clear your throat and sit down on the couch next to Aradia instead. Nepeta, Equius and Eridan gather around you both, once you motion them over.

"So," you say. "This is how it's going to go down. We're going to go into the bar, take care of business, and get out. That's all. No causing trouble, no fights with brownbloods, no flirting with strangers at the bar, none of that fucking complicated shit. Just question around a little bit, see what's going on, and the second we get a lead we're getting the hell out." You look at Eridan, to make sure he's got it all. "...Fucking seriously? Grubsmasher again?"

"Cod off, I'm about to beat my high score, this is important," he says.

"Use your own damn transmitter, I have a charger here," you say. "Or better yet, stop playing that stupid game entirely."

"No, wait, I love this game!" Nepeta squeals so lously that Pounce hisses and jumps off her lap onto the side table. "What's the highest level grub you've gotten? I've only reached tealblood," she says, with a disappointed frown.

"All the way up the indigoblood," he says proudly. "I figure I'll reach seadwellers soon."

"Ohh, wow! How did you do it? Did you use any of the cheat codes? Because I've heard it's nearly impossible to get past blueblood if you don't tweak the game even a little bit in your advantage, just, like, increase the number of grub berries—"

"Nepeta," you say sharply. Her mouth shuts with a snap, and Aradia reaches out for your hand, which thrums ever so slightly with psionics. You meet her worried eyes with your own, and try to breathe. "Sorry," you whisper, "It's under control. Will you take over though?"

"Of course," she says, releasing your hand with a final squeeze to rifle through her little notebook. "I've got a list of the stolen pharmaceuticals here and it seems like a pretty random assortment, as far as I can tell — painkillers, some blood thinners — so if they're mixing them, it's definitely a new street drug.  
"The good news is, if this was the first incident of theft, it's probably either fresh on the market or still in the refining process, especially considering how little was stolen. If it's not, we need to figure out how long these incidents have been going on. We also need to keep in mind that there were also a bunch of stolen needles, and anything involving needles runs the risk of introducing disease into the lowblood population if they're not being careful. If we can, we may want to alert local clinics so they can keep an eye out for any influx of patients with blood-transferable illnesses." 

She pauses to take a breath, and it allows you to reminisce on how much better she's suited to detective work than tech support. Aradia's talents really are wasted on your ship, but you fear that neither of you could take a long-distance moirallegiance if she had the chance to transfer.

"Anyway," she continues, " Make sure to keep an eye out for track marks on the arms tonight, or anything that could be hiding them, like excessively long sleeves or out-of-place wristbands. Based on Nepeta's description of adiosToreador, we should be focusing on looking for a small brownblood with big horns. If we're lucky, he'll be with the highblood, terminallyCapricious, which will make him really easy to spot. Even if they're not there, we can at least ask around, and if we run into a dead end we can look into the ship that left for Meribee overnight, see if they're shipping the product there or if it's just a coincidence. But that will be a last resort, because we all know—" she glances at you in particular, "—that's the last place we want to go back to in a hurry unless we absolutely have to."

"Precisely," you say, encouraged by Aradia's confidence. "Equius, I'm going to need you guarding the door in case anything goes wrong or anyone tries to make an escape. Nepeta, keep an eye on Eridan, help him scan the room. Stay in the shadows." 

"Got it!" Thankfully, even if Eridan noticed any underlying judgement of his abilities, he stays silent about it.

"Aradia and I will do most of the talking, since we'll probably stand out the least. Nepeta, you're probably low enough on the hemospectrum to dispel any suspicion, and Equius, you might be okay too as long as you don't flaunt your caste around, but Eridan..." 

He flares his fins at this. "It wasn't my fault last time!" You suppose more than thirty seconds of silence from him was too much too ask. 

"Just stay out of our way, okay? I'm sure a time will come when your seadweller status will be useful, but today is definitely not that day. Having you flouting around us in all your finned violet glory will _not_ make anyone loose lipped."

"Fine." He's a little snippy about it, as you expected, but at least he isn't pitching a fit. You'd think this means he's making progress, but he probably just likes the description "finned violet glory" too much to object.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow I am still editing this while also doing nano 2014. help me, I didn't do this fast enough.

"Okay," Nepeta says, as you make your way to the bar. "So, Sollux will check ahead to make sure that there's no sign of that brownblood from last night, right? And then Eridan and I will go in next, then Aradia, and Equius will keep watch outside?"  
  
"Right," you say. "Just make as little fuss as possible." Eridan pulls the black beanie Aradia lent him down over his fins again, adjusting the holes at the top so his horns show through as prominently as possible. They're close to his head and wavy, a typical seadweller shape, but you doubt anyone in this crowd will know that, and even so there's enough variation in horn shape that it really isn't telling of his caste. At any rate, in your opinion it’s far better to be recognized as a sea troll than mistaken for a human because your horns aren’t visible.   
  
You glance back at Eridan to make sure he's appropriately disguised, then take a breath and step into the Oinkbeast’s Nug for the second time in two days. It's just as dim and smoky as you remember, the thick air almost making it hard to take a decent breath. You realize how much it's like the air back in Alternia, and think you must be getting soft already, smirking a little at the thought. You’ve even been going out in the sun.  
  
Once the Intergalaxy became more traversable, it took a long time for trolls to feel safe on the planets that has normal sun, instead of the burning death of Alternia's. Even back when the Condesce was in power she would either strike at night, or go for the planets that were always clouded, or in darkness, or covered in layers of protective ocean. The humans were the ones that put a stop to this —  they wanted planets to be colonized harmoniously around the central space station, not divided, and they preferred the planets with non-fatal sunlight anyway. Apparently they need sunlight to photosynthesize or some shit. Or maybe that's plants. You never paid much attention in your human biology courses, for the first few weeks you were always passing grotesque diagrams back and forth with Aradia on what you both imagined human genitals to look like (you'd heard a lot of stories) and then when you actually started meeting the humans face to face the novelty started the wear off and you realized what boring creatures they were. It is fitting that their home planet is called Earth, because they are all pink and brown and ochre, earthy colors. And their skin color doesn’t even determine their blood caste like it should — their blood is all the same mutant red.  
  
You go up to the bar, hoping that no one recognizes you, scanning for the brownblood, your flight response ready to kick in at any moment. You breath a sigh of relief when you don't see him. It's a different crowd tonight , and there's even a musician playing in the back corner, with a small cluster of trolls gathered around him, swaying to the music. Good. It'll make it more likely for trolls to give you information if they don't think they're going to be overheard. Unfortunately, though, you don't see any other brownbloods that would match Nepeta's description either. You head back up the narrow, dirty staircase of the bar, up towards the dim glimmer of outside light, the walls papered with band posters and torn corners of paper still shining with a flash of dull metal staple here and there.   
  
"Alright," you say, poking your head out the door. "The coast is clear." Aradia steps around Nepeta and Eridan to follow you down the gloomy steps, her boots tapping against the stone.  _Stone is an interesting choice for bar stairs_ , you think. Very Alternian. You assume it's such a common material in troll restaurants and bars because it evokes grub caves, but you're not sure whether that’s actually a good thing since for trolls on Alternia, those sweeps in the caves are usually spent battling for dear life.    
  
Humans usually use plaster or wood, which you find uncomfortable. Wood is fine, but plaster walls are chalky and unnatural. You know that when you're in a building that uses plaster it was built by a human.   
  
Nepeta and Eridan follow close behind, Nepeta tugging at his sleeve to lead him into an unoccupied corner, whispering commands at him. "Remember, keep an eye out for track marks and long sleeves, like Aradia said! And keep your dumb fins covered, stop flipping them around!"  
  
"It's uncomfortable though," he protests. “They’re so constricted. They need to be free."  
  
“Well, you'll just have to deal with it!" she says definitively. You smile. She'll do fine keeping him under control. You and Aradia, in the meantime, step up to the bar and order drinks. You get your usual honey concoction, and she orders something called the "Frog's throat blend," whatever  _that_  is. You soon find out it's a dark, thick and viscous conconction, like sopor, with a slight green shimmer to the rim. You peer at it curiously.   
  
"Local specialty," she says by way of explanation, catching your stare. "Every bar on Metropiter has a slightly different version, differentiating themselves by the part of the frog they use in the name. Honestly, if you ordered anything besides horrible honey drinks you'd know." She wrinkles her nose at the smooth amber liquid in your cup. You don't know what she's talking about, you think it tastes delicious. You take a sip, and the honey taste is sweet and lingering as always, coating the burn of the alcohol that's left in your throat. Simply sublime.   
  
"Does that drink actually have frog throat in it?" you ask, more to make conversation than for any actual interest in the subject. You've both decided to wait for a little bit and get settled in before you start chatting anyone up. You have all night; you may as well take it slow.   
  
"Who knows?" she says speculatively, taking a swig of it. "I don't really care either way. It's strong, it's cheap, it's unique, and it tastes pretty good. Pretty winning combination if you ask me. I wouldn't be offended if they used fake frog instead of real. Life is deceptive more often than not; you just have to pretend not to notice or you'll start actually caring."  
  
You shrug. "It looks like the musician is taking a break. Might be a good time to ask around."  
  
Aradia nods in agreement, and you both eye the next trolls who comes up to the bar, a tealblood clutching a rustbood's hand.  
  
"Excuse me," she begins. The tealblood takes one look at her and raises an eyebrow, sipping her drink.   
  
You decide this is going to go either very poorly or too well, and that either way Aradia can handle it on her own and you’re going to take a bathroom break before it gets out of hand. You don't actually need to use the bathroom, but you think you'll go splash some water on your face or something. You down the rest of your honey whiskey and leave her to it.  
  
Troll's don't differentiate their bathrooms based on gender, unlike humans. Honestly, you're not too sure what the difference between male and female humans is, and why there's a cause to use a different bathroom based on it. Are their reproductive parts different enough that they cannot use the same equipment? You've been in a few human-centric bathrooms before and they do have some strange load gapers in the male versions, but nothing you could see as obviously unusable by anyone. You certainly haven't been intimate enough with a human to figure it out. You absolutely shudder at the thought.   
  
You push open the unmarked door, save for a tiny load gaper icon scratched into the dark wood, and notice the light is flipped on. Odd. Troll bathrooms are usually kept dim, since you all can see well enough in the dark anyway. Lights have only been implemented as a courtesy to the few humans around the planet, but you can't imagine any humans coming  _here_. You wash your hands cautiously, listening for the sound of someone coming out of the stalls. At last, someone does, and you breath a sigh of relief at the telltale flash of orange horn. You accidentally make eye contact with him as you both reach for the soap, and notice he's got a strange, robotic-looking instrument with lots of wires and gears strapped to his back, sticking partially out of a black cloth case.   
  
"Oh, were you the musician out there?" you ask, surprised. He nods.  
  
"Yeah." He has a strange tone to his voice. A strange look to his entire face, actually. His skin is oddly flawless and smooth, his eyes look to be in that transition period between youth and adulthood but have a strange layered effect to them, and you realize as he pulls his hands back to dry them that he's been wearing and washing black leather gloves this entire time. You look at them curiously, but say nothing.  
  
"You seemed to be putting on a good show." He nods again, carefully, watching you. You watch him back as you reach for a paper towel. There's something off about him, but you can't quite place it. Or maybe you don't want to.   
  
On a hunch, you draw on your psionics, silently swearing to Aradia and Feferi that you'll stop using them so much and be good from now on. Just as soon as you figure this out. You send out a tentative tendril of it towards him, keeping your mind calm and feeling for his aura, his life essence. If he's a normal troll, he'll have a very specific...fuck. You hit exactly what you're  _not_ looking for.  
  
"You're a fucking human," you blurt out. He actually jumps.  
  
"No I'm not, I..." At the look in your eyes he pauses, covers his face with his gloved hands. "...How did you know?" He's dropped the Alternian accent, and now you know for sure.  
  
You study him carefully, wondering what his motives could be, but you'll never know unless you ask. Revealing this much about yourself won't give him anything to use against you, anyway. It's on your ID card, after all.  
  
"I'm a psionic.” When he doesn’t react to this, you continue. "I can send out charged electrical signals that can recognize the specific aura patterns of trolls. And you don't have any of them, which can only mean..."  
  
"Shit," he says, awe in his voice. "A psionic. I've never met one before, only read about them. Dammit, I really should have allowed for that...but how could I have...aura, let's see..."  
  
"Honestly," you say, "I only tested your aura because I could tell that something was off from the beginning."  
  
"Could you?" he says, surprised. "You're very perceptive. Most don't notice."  
  
You snort with laughter despite yourself. "They're fucking idiots then. It's kind of obvious."  
  
He furrows his brow. "Shit, is it? I spent a lot of money on this getup, too...maybe I'll have to get something re-checked...what would you say gave it away, to you?" He looks at you expectantly. You cannot believe this guy, who does he think he is? Pretend to be a troll, then once his cover is blown ask for tips on how to impersonate your species better? You open your mouth, ready to tell him off, but his face is just so expectant and you're actually kind of wondering how he did it. Because honestly, if you hadn't been staring at him closely you  _wouldn't_ have noticed, despite wanting to tell yourself that you would have. And that's kind of the scary thing. Are there more humans like him running around, pretending to be trolls? What is even the appeal in it? You can't imagine it's to play music at troll bars.   
  
"Er," you say. You rack your brain, looking for the right words to explain it. "I'd say you almost look  _too_ good. It's that uncanny valley, you know — er, do you know computer terms? I'm not sure how mainstream that phrase is—" He laughs.   
  
"Actually, I do. You're in luck. I do a lot of robotics on the side." He gestures at the strange instrument on his back. "I actually built this myself. My own invention — a mix of autonomous robotics and human musical interference. Makes it so I never really know what sound it’s going to make until I play it." He laughs. "I guess I like to live on the edge. Uncanny valley though, huh? I suppose I could see why you’d think that."  
  
As he speaks, you grow more and more impressed, despite yourself. A human doing something this advanced in robotics? It's an unfair thought, of course — you know there are a lot of humans in the intergalactic tech committee, and it's certainly been proven that they're as smart as trolls. You just haven't had any field evidence until now. "Yeah," you continue, "it's just something about the way your face looks. And your eyes — they almost look like transition eyes, like the stage right before adulthood, which is what you were probably going for —," he nods, “— but there's this weird extra layer to them. It's kind of hard to explain, but it doesn't really look natural, I guess."  
  
"That would be because they're contacts," he says.  
  
"Contacts?" You've heard of them. They're a human thing — for whatever reason, they don't work on troll eyes though, so you don't know that much about them other than that they're supposed to fix your vision.  
  
 "Yeah. Colored contacts. They're massively uncomfortable to wear for extended periods of time because they need to cover my whole eye instead of just the iris, since you guys have got yellows instead of whites. It makes sense that they look a little odd up close, but there’s nothing I can really do about that. What were you saying about my face, though?" In another tone, the question could sound challenging. Certainly if it came from Eridan's mouth. From this human's, though, it just sounds curious. Curiosity is a welcome change, you have to admit.  
  
"I don't really know how else I can explain it. Not enough texture or something." You shrug. "What do you use, by the way? Just gray makeup? And is your face naturally structured more like a troll's, or...?" Oops. You let your own curiosity get the better of you. But the human just seems amused at your sudden barrage of questions.  
  
"I use liquid latex for the gray, since it's waterproof and all, and I have a prosthetic base underneath it. Had to have it custom made. The teeth are also specially molded to my own to make it look more natural, but you can tell if you look at the roots, so I have to try not to open my mouth too wide when I talk. Or just not talk at all, which actually kind of works for my shows. Adds to the whole 'mysterious musician' vibe if that's what I'm going for on a particular night." He winks, grinning, and he's right; you can see the unevenness along his gums. Which are gray. You're pretty sure that's not natural for humans.  
  
"How about your mouth? How did you get it gray?"  
  
"Whoa, just full of questions now, are we? Now I can't give away all my secrets, I'll just tell you that there are ways, and all of them taste terrible." He makes a face, perhaps instinctively. "This disguise is really no small feat, you know. At least I don't have to worry about my hands — I could get fake nails if I really needed to, but I need gloves to play my instrument anyway, and if anyone starts asking questions I always just say I'm a burn victim and my actual hands are too horribly disfigured to reveal to the public. A la V for Vendetta, you know?"  
  
You don't, actually, know, but you'll let it slide. "So why the hell are you dressed as a troll anyway?" you say instead.  
  
He frowns. "I was wondering when we'd get to this. Look, I'd love to tell you, but I really can't. We'll just say I'm a very dedicated my my craft, okay, and leave it at that."  
  
You think about this for a moment. If there's something he feels like he needs to keep secret from you, it's either because it's interesting, or  _really_ interesting. And even if it totally blows your cover, you're going to have to take a little risk for some potential information. You're not entirely sure how this troll wannabe could possibly be involved in your investigation, but you're not about to turn your back on a lead. You sigh deeply.    
  
"Look," you say quietly, even though this bathroom is apparently a no-go zone for everyone but you and this human. "I'm here as part of an investigation about some stolen cargo, under special orders from the head of the fleet, even though I'm technically in IG tech support. Here's my badge, if you want proof." You pull it out and show it to him, gingerly.   
  
"Honorary tealblood, look at that, what an honor," he deadpans.   
  
You bristle a little at this. "It's useful sometimes, you know. I wouldn't expect a human, even one pretending to be a troll, to understand the caste system—"  
  
"Whoa, look, don't get your panties in a knot," he says, raising his eyebrows. "I only meant..." He says, and looks down for a moment, as if he's thinking about how to phrase his words without offending you. You appreciate the gesture, but you're sure you'll feel offended regardless. "I only meant that I'm surprised the IG still allows that on ID cards. I mean, I understand that the caste system is still a big part of troll culture, but if we're trying to get towards neutrality, it's hardly fair for employees of the government. I mean, there's isn't really an alternative for humans, is there? And they're really just sticking their middle finger up at you with this, saying that even though they're  _trying_ to promote equality that yeah, your blood color is still inferior. I just think it's kind of shitty, is all." He shrugs, and you blink, shockingly un-offended. Okay, you might be a little offended, but not nearly as much as you thought you were going to be.   
  
"I guess it is," you say carefully, not wanting to give him too much satisfaction in being right.  
  
"Not to disrupt your entire way of thinking, or anything," he says, grinning. "I just think about this sort of shit a lot, since I'm kind of at an unusual perspective. But okay, you've convinced me with your Very Official Government ID Card and your Fancy Investigation, I suppose. It's really not that big of a deal, what I do, to speak to you honestly. I just don't like to talk about myself too much — the real me, I mean — when there might be eavesdroppers. Really, a bar isn't the safest place."  
  
You nod. "Yeah, you're right. I was just thinking, I'm actually shocked no one else has come in and interrupted us."  
  
"Well," he says. "Uh. That's actually because I locked the door as soon as I revealed myself to be human. Safety measures, you know."  
  
"You...You what?" You are honestly taken aback. "How?"  
  
"Flash-stepped. I'll explain later I guess. Should we meet tomorrow somewhere?"  
  
You think about this. Either he'll have some information regarding your investigation for you, or you'll be able to at least find out more about why the hell he sneaks around pretending to be a troll. Both options sound pretty interesting, honestly.   
  
"...Sure," you say. You can’t believe you’re agreeing to meet with a human of your own free will. Even one in disguise.   
  
"Okay." He nods. "Do you mind if I choose a place? I really only have a couple locations where I'd trust this sort of conversation. If you have a transmitter, I can give you coordinates and a time."  
  
"That's fine." You don't really know the city anyway, not well enough to choose a place for a secretive talk.  
  
"And look, I don't want to make you feel off-put by this at all, but I'd rather you come alone. If I'm gonna say anything..." He hesitates. "I'm sure you have a crew or a quadrantmate that you're going to tell all this to anyway, but..."  
  
"I do," you admit. "My co-captain, foremost. She's also my moirail," you add, since this human seems familiar enough with quadrants to get the significance of this.  
  
"Right," he says, nodding. "Well, if it makes you feel better, you can keep your crew within, er, rescuing distance if you think you'll need that, but I'm not dangerous, I promise. Just very careful."  
  
"I understand," you say. "I can defend myself, of course, but I appreciate the offer. I'll have Aradia — my moirail — come along and hang out nearby though. I, um, just like having her close. She's here now too." You don't know why you're admitting this to him. This is the longest conversation you've probably ever had with a human — you usually can't last five minutes without losing interest. Maybe it's because he's more trollish. Or, you know, looks just like a troll. If you weren’t at such close range, you could definitely slip and forget.  
  
"Is she?" he says, surprised. "Well, you should probably get back to her then. You've been in here a long time."  
  
"Shit, I guess I have," you say. "...She can handle herself, though."  
  
"I'm sure she can," he says, with an odd expression you can't quite parse. "Here, let me give you this coordinates."  
  
"Oh," you say, holding out your transmitter. "Thanks."  
  
"What was your name, by the way?" he asks as he hands it back.   
  
"I'm Sollux," you say, considering sticking out your hand in human fashion to shake his, but deciding against it.  
  
"Dirk Strider. Pleasure. I guess you might as well know my real name, if the charade is up anyway. I'll see you tomorrow then? Around noon?"  
  
"Sure. Dirk Strider. Right." The human name sounds strange in your mouth as you work around the letters with your fangs, your adolescent lisp resurfacing over his surname. You curse mentally and vow to work on that.  
  
"See you, then," he says quickly, then takes a last look at himself in the mirror, unlocks the door with a smooth motion, and is gone with a last backhanded wave. He disappears so fast, it's almost awkward considering how long you two were talking, and when you hurriedly push open the door again to leave before it completely closes, he's already nowhere to be seen. You head back to your seat at the bar, feeling guilty about how long you've been gone when you see Aradia's stack of drinks on the counter.  
  
"Oh hey," she says, unconcerned, when she sees you. "Nice of you to make an reappearance. Have some honey whiskey I ordered for you twenty sweeps ago. By the way, did you know this was a pick-up bar?"  
  
You almost choke on your first sip. "What?"  
  
"Yeah. Find a quadrantmate, get drunk, and listen to live music all under one roof! Very convenient, if you ask me. I think I've got the start of a black feud going with about half the bar by now. You and Eridan should be proud."  
  
"Oh no, Eridan," you say with a sinking feeling. "Did he cause any problems?"  
  
"Nah," she says. "He got hit on a bunch, but Nepeta is warding them off for the most part. You really weren't gone  _that_ long. Just pretty long, for the bathroom. So what was it? Really constipated or something?"  
  
You nearly choke again, goddammit. "No. Actually, uh...I'll tell you when we're out of here," you say, with a furtive look around. "We should probably leave anyway. I don't think we're going to get any more intel tonight."  
  
"You're probably right," she says with a sigh. "I strung along all those poor rivalrous fools for nothing. What a shame."  
  
"You can always come back another night," you offer.  
  
She snorts. "As if. I think we’re both done with this place. Go on, finish your drink, I'll grab Nepeta and Eridan." She's tabbed out before you can blink, and you pay for your own couple of honey concoctions with a sigh as you relish the last few sips as best you can. 


	7. Chapter 7

As you walk back to the hotel, you quietly recount the events of the night.

"But why would he _want_ to dress up like a troll?" Aradia says.

"Yes, this seems fishy," Nepeta agrees, wrinkling her nose.

"I have no idea," you say. "That's what he's presumably explaining tomorrow. By the way, Aradia, he wants me to go to the actual meeting spot alone, but said I could have a member of the crew nearby for security. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," she says immediately. "I'll sit in a cafe or something. Go over my notes. I'll keep my transmitter handy if you need me for anything. I should probably bring my utility knife too, if I can swing that..." she trails off, mumbling about the logistics of concealing weapons in a cafe. 

"Good, glad I can count on you," you say, not wanting to being up the dubious legality of subduing a human with an illegally enhanced pocketknife. You're pretty sure whips don't fall under the umbrella of allowable self-defense weaponry. 

"What about me?" Eridan whines from somewhere to your left. Oh. You'd forgotten about him. How bothersome. 

"I don't know," you say with a sigh. "Just hang out in the hotel or something. Sort your ring collection."

He actually seems to contemplate this for a moment, even though you'd only said it as a joke. He  _would_ have a ring collection though. Typical. You must have made an amused face, because he looks at you with suspicion. "Are you makin' fun a' me?" he says. 

"Me? Never." You roll your eyes. "Seriously, do whatever you want. Explore the city. I don't care. Just don't get yourself killed or thrown into jail or something — I'll never hear the end of it from FF."

"You're such a dick," he mutters. "I endured a lot in that bar, you know."

"Oh poor fucking you, getting hit on, your life must be so hard."

"Like you're one to talk, I bet you pailed that human in the bathroom, I hear you were gone forever," he shoots back. 

"Do you even know how human anatomy works?" It's not like you really do either, but you're pretty sure that it's incompatible with trolls. "Besides, I wouldn't stoop that low...though maybe _you_ would. Not jealous, are you?"

"As if!" he says with indignation, but looks away... Wait, is he actually jealous? And of what? You really, really hope it has nothing to do with you bordering on blackflirting with him occasionally — constantly —  _Shit._ You've got to remember to try to stay cordial. As if she knows what you've been thinking, Aradia nudges you with her shoulder and winks. The hand spade gestures will be coming any time now, you just know it. 

"Anyway," you say, as you arrive back at the hotel, trying not to think about the last troll you'd ever want as a quadrantmate. "It shouldn't take too long, and hopefully if all goes well he'll know something about this drug theft or the organization itself, and then we'll have a lead to follow  tomorrow night. For now, though, we should get some rest."

"You're right," Aradia says with a nod, and flops onto the velvet couch. "And even if we don't find anything out, we can always go back to that—," she grimaces, as if she doesn't even want to say it, "— _bar_  tomorrow, and keep looking for other leads."

You laugh, sitting beside her. "I think we're done with that place."

"Thank god," Aradia says, almost at a whisper, and drops her head back onto the cushion reverently. 

"I didn't think it was too bad!" Nepeta says cheerily. "I got to practice using my kitty claws!" She extends the thin metal blades from the strap on the back of her wrists and swipes the air experimentally. Eridan shrinks into the corner as they get dangerously close to his cape, which he cocooned himself in the second you all stepped into the room, like a refugee's blanket. A very purple one.

"Nepeta," you say wearily. "We aren't supposed to injure civilians. You shouldn't even be wearing those."

"But how am I supposed to protect myself? It was all self-defense anyway, I swear! That's purrfectly within the rulebook," she protests, crossing her arms and retracting her claws defiantly. 

"Even so," you say. "You should be careful."

"Yes, Nepeta," Equius says, his first words for a long while. "Listen to the Captain. You mustn't get yourself into trouble."

"I wasn't!"

"  _Nepeta_ ," he says warningly. 

"Fine, fine, I'll be careful," she pouts. 

"How was your time spent on guard duty?" you ask Equius, realizing you hadn't heard anything on the subject yet.

"Uneventful, Captain."

"Is that so?"

"Just much... undignified tomfoolery." He sniffs, and you suppress a snicker as Eridan flushes a little behind his cape. You'd expected as much.

"Well," you say. "We should all get some sleep now. Eridan, there's an open recuperacoon in the back left corner. It's the one with the curtains open." He nods stiffly in response, and you figure that's as far as you need to go as far as Captainly duties go. You stretch, yawning, and ready yourself for the last nice warm sopor soak before what you expect is going to be a _very_ interesting day. 

***

You wake up on your own for once, feeling warm and refreshed, but you can tell from the position of the suns that it's still fairly early. Despite this, you can hear somebody in the ablution trap already. You peek up over the edge of your recuperacoon, leaning through your curtains, seeing if you can get a clue as to who it could be. Aradia, maybe? But no, her curtains are tight shut. The only ones open are Eridan's, and his recuperacoon is empty as well, a trail of slime droplets on the floor around the base. So he's the one using the ablution trap this early. You hope he drowns. It's a ridiculous fate to wish upon a seadweller, but you wish it nonetheless. Maybe his gills will get hopelessly clogged with sopor and he'll suffocate before he can clean them out. 

As you sink back down into the warm sopor, submerging yourself up to your shoulders, he emerges from the bathroom, flushed lavender from the steam and dripping water on the plush carpet. He's clutching one of the fluffy hotel towels around his waist and has yet another wrapped around his head, draped carefully around his horns. Towel hog. You narrow your eyes sleepily at him and sink lower, hoping he doesn't notice your open curtains. He doesn't. Instead he turns his back just as he passes you to stretch, the towel around his waist slipping a little as he raises his arms above his head, pulling one with the other, giving you a very nice view of his back muscles tensing and releasing with the movement. Well, that's just great. You have a very strong and sudden urge to reach out and shove your claws into the gills on his sides to make him stop—aaaand you really, really needto stop having these disgustingly romantic urges. 

Instead, you wait until he done rummaging through his suitcase for a change of clothes and has retreated back behind his curtain to change, then rise carefully from your recuperacoon and slip into the shower.

By the time you're dressed, Aradia has somehow snuck into the ablution trap after you, the shudder of water as the tap turns on and the empty recuperacoon and hastily drawn curtains the only indication that she's in there. It’s a good thing this hotel is so fancy, or you’d have long run out of hot water by now. Unfortunately, this means you'll have to contend with Eridan for the mirror against the far wall, as your plan to abscond into the trap to mess with your hair a little is no longer doable. You sigh, and shuffle up next to him, taking note of the various tubes and bottles scattered across the little ledge under the hanging wall mirror. 

"What  _are_ all these?" you say, by way of greeting, picking up a noxious green tub of what proceeds to advertise itself as horn polish. It's nearly the color of sopor. 

"You are looking at the components of my very important morning beauty routine," he says, unfazed by your tone. 

"Huh." You don't know what else to say, so you flatten your hair aimlessly with your hand and watch him pat a creamy, light gray substance into his cheeks with a sponge-tipped brush. He tilts his head to either side, apparently admiring the absolutely unnoticeable amount of difference it did to his face. 

"I have to wake up nearly before dawn each morning to begin, or I'll never finish it in time to get anything else accomplished," he continues, in a long-suffering voice. You just stare at him, wondering how he misread your utter lack of interest as an "oh yes please do continue explaining this fascinating subject to me." And he does. 

"I have to strike a very delicate balance between a good night's sleep and a healthy amount of routine time. If it's too rushed, my skin will get upset, you see." He taps his temples gently with his fingers, as if to demonstrate this point. "It doesn't do well if there aren't ample hours allowed for the moisture to absorb before going outside. Seadwellers, you know, have very sensitive skin. We're evolved to spend most of our time underwater, so we have to be careful to moisturize if we know we won't be absorbing the necessary epidermal nutrients from seawater that day. Some seadwellers mitigate this by cutting saltwater into their sopor at night, but as we all well know that lessens the effects of the sopor itself, and I _personally_ don’t really feel the benefits are worth it."

"Well, Eridan, as fascinating as this subject is, I do think it's time that Sollux and I go off to breakfast before his big important meeting!" Aradia cuts in with false cheeriness, as her reflection appears in the mirror behind you both.

"Oh, breakfast!" Eridan says. "Do you think you two could wait about another hour for me to finish up here?"

You both just look at him. "No," you say in unison, nearly instantaneously. He looks hurt, and Aradia clears her throat.

"Nepeta and Equius will be waking up and wanting breakfast soon, I'm sure," she says quickly. "You can go with them. We're just in a hurry, is all."

"But it's not even—"

"Even so! Lots of things to do. Who knows what could hold us up?" She grabs you by the arm and marches you out, pausing only to grab both your transmitters from the side table and passing yours to you so you can clip it onto your belt. 

As soon as you make it to the breakfast buffet, you both let out identical sighs, giving the human-oriented table a wide berth and piling your plates high with grub sandwiches and tiny raw finger sausages. 

"I cannot even believe he's real sometimes," Aradia mumbles, her mouth full of sandwich, as you poke at your transmitter at your table. You decide to swallow your own bite before speaking.

"It's so easy to accidentally flip black on him, it's ridiculous," you admit, a little shamefully. She pats your shoulder absently. 

"It's okay, I get it completely. He really is insufferable."


	8. Chapter 8

The location your transmitter leads you to for your meeting with Dirk is a completely unmarked door in a very dim alleyway.

“Here? Really?” Aradia says, squinting at it. “It’s so suspicious looking it’s almost comedic."

You shrug. “Guess so. I’ll message you if anything goes wrong."

“Alright. Suppose I’ll leave you alone then. Hope I’ll actually be able to find a coffee shop to sit in around here."

She wanders off towards a better-lit area, and you try the handle cautiously. Of course, it doesn't open. You sigh, wondering what to do next and really hoping this isn't actually a front for organ harvesting as you knock on the door instead. You rather like your bloodpusher where it is, thanks.

"Sollux, is that you?" a muffled voice says from inside. Well, it's now or never. It doesn't sound like an organ harvester. It rather sounds like the human you met last night, actually, pronouncing your name in perfect Alternian. You remember how difficult it had been for you to say his name in turn, and vow that you’re not going to let this human one-up you again.

"Yeah, it's me." The door creaks open on its own, and you step in, blinking as your eyes dilate and readjust to the odd lighting, made even stranger by your bi-colored lenses. The room you've just entered seems to be completely lit red, which is throwing your vision off like mad. Is this another human thing you hadn’t paid attention to during lectures? You’re really starting to wish you’d taken those classes seriously.

"Is that you?" you say, squinting at a figure crouched in the corner. "Sorry, my glasses make it hard to see with all this red."

"Oh. My bad," he says nonchalantly, reaching over and flipping a switch on the wall that instantly changes the color of the light to a flickering florescence. You both blink for a moment as you readjust, and then you can finally properly see the space you've just stepped into.

It's a studio of some sort, you realize; Dirk's studio, most likely, judging by the scattering of mechanical equipment. The floor and counters in the room are littered with wires bolts, nuts, and half assembled machinery, and the whole place smells vaguely of motor oil, dusty computers, and sawdust. The sole window is planked over, and a single light swings from the ceiling above; it has two bulbs, though, which you assume he vacillates between using that switch on the wall. The room itself is tiny— there's no furniture other than the two counters and a few chairs, most of which are piled high with messily labeled boxes, and the floor is covered as well save for a path leading from the door to the window and trailing towards a door in the opposite wall, which is shut tight and blocked with yet another indecipherably labeled box. And now that you can see again, you can see Dirk properly as well— or who you assume to be Dirk, judging from the voice, because he’s basically unrecognizable.

When he flipped the light he also put on a pair of pointed sunglasses, so you can't see the color of his eyes, but you assume their natural color isn’t one on the hemospectrum, because the rest of him certainly isn't. He's wearing a black tank top, stained darker in some places with oil and dirt and god knows what, ad it does well to show off his very human muscle structure and skin tone. His hair is no longer black, either— it must have been a wig he was wearing the night before, because his current color is bright blond and perfectly styled. His facial structure is completely different as well— he has a distinctly human nose, pointed instead of the more typically trollish turned up or flat one, and a strong jaw. Now that you can actually see how much difference the prosthetics made, how much work actually went into changing his appearance to that degree, you're a lot more impressed. (Not that you weren't really already.)

"Wow," you say. "I would have never recognized you."

"That's the idea," he says dismissively, but you can tell he’s pleased nonetheless. “When I’m out of disguise, even long-term customers won’t give me a second glance on the street."

"Impressive. Though of course I can see why."

"It's pretty convenient, actually."

“I'm sure. So what was up with the red light?” You pick up and inspect what seems to be a coffee can filled to the brim with transmitter chips.

"It helps me adjust to darkness easier," he explains. "Red light doesn't kill my night vision like normal light does, so I try to work under it whenever possible so I’m not completely blind if I need to go out in disguise at night, which would obviously blow my cover.” He taps his shades. “These help, but don’t work quite as well."

"Huh," you say. "So is this where you live?" This room is tiny, but you figure there could be more through that other door.

He laughs. "No, of course not, I'm not that trusting. This is just one of my workshops. I’ve got them all over the city—my bro keeps buying more cheap lots for me even though I keep telling him I don't need another one. He's kind of a impulse shopper."

"Your brother?" Another human concept— trolls don't have siblings.

"Yeah, he's kind of a big deal, I guess. He does music, like me, but at a way bigger scale."

“Like...a rock star?" you say, confused.

"Oh no, nothing like that," he says, looking amused. "He's just a DJ. It's kind of hard to explain. That being said, I'm sure he'd get up in arms about me calling him _just_ a DJ, though. He's very dedicated to his art." 

"I see," you say, though you're really only more confused now. "So does he have anything to do with your, er, disguise?"

He nods. “In a sense." He puts down the robotic arm he'd been fiddling with and brushes back a lock of hair that had sprung free from the gel and fallen into his eyes. "My bro was the original reason I started—he wanted me to check out the Metropiter underground scene, where humans aren't as welcome, you know. Build some trust, establish some connections, find out if he could breach the market. So he was the one who hooked me up with most of the components of my disguise.” He smirks a little. “He’s so popular now that he hardly needs me anymore, so at this point it’s mostly just habit and convenience."

"He must have a lot of money, if he bought the parts for your disguise and all these lots. I can't imagine space is very cheap here."

He shakes his head. "It's not. He has a lot of money to throw around. He did some movie production in his younger days, which is why he was able to climb the ladder so quickly when he started DJing."

"Why here? Why not stick to planets closer to earth, if he already had all those human connections?" 

“Well, we didn’t actually grow up there. We were both born on a tiny planet not too far from Central. Because it was so close, we were hit hard by all the reforms. I’ve actually lived in troll neighborhoods for most of my life, which is why my Alternian accent isn’t half-bad."

"I noticed that. It really is quite good."

"I never would have passed unnoticed for so long if it weren't, I guess. Anyway, we've always felt more comfortable with the chaos of Alternian style cities because of where we were born, so we decided to move here, figuring it would be like a bigger version but with less of Central breathing down our necks all the time."

"Is there really less Central influence here?" It would be the first time you'd heard it. Alternia, maybe, just because it's still utter chaos over there, even sweeps after the pact, but you've visited this planet many a time on Central business.

"At first, yeah. But not anymore. My brother is actually an unofficial IG employee now. He gets into so many highblood parties that they've got him doing some spywork for them. Making sure there's nothing shady going on at those affairs. And there usually is, of course, but I don't think he's told to report unless it's something really big."

"Like what?" you say. Have you been focusing your investigation on the wrong end of the hemospectrum this whole time?

"Not really my place to say," he says shiftily. "And it's not like I really know. He doesn’t report everything to Central, or to me. He likes to keep a few cards in his hand."

“A reasonable thing to do," you allow. “Especially when Central is involved.” You consider your options and decide that at this point it’s all or nothing. “There wouldn’t be a way to talk to him directly, would there? It’s hard to turn down a potential lead, and your brother really sounds like he’s in the know."

He tilts his head, as if thinking about this. “There just might be. He’s DJing a big highblood ball tonight, and I’m sure there will be scandals galore there even if you’re just poking around on your own. He'll probably have a break around eleven, and you could talk to him then. I can tell him I'm sending you."

"That sounds promising," you say. "I'll be there. Thank you for all your help,” you add.

He shrugs. "It's no big deal. Even if you're not completely trustworthy, I'm pretty sure we're still playing for the same side here, so I don't really mind helping you out."

"Same here, I guess," you allow. “I have to say, you’re not half-bad for a human."

"I'll take that as a backhanded compliment," he says, sounding amused. “By the way, about the ball— I'm not sure how familiar you are with this sort of highblood event, but they’re very strict on they allow in. You can flash your tealblood ID and tell them you're there for DJ Strider all you want but they still might not budge. If you want guaranteed access, you’ll pretty much needa highbloodquadrantmate, or at least someone willing to pretend to be one for the night."

You make a face. "Shit. Thanks for letting me know."

"No problem. Gonna be a tough request, huh?"

"You have no idea."

He smirks. "I'd be there too for kicks in disguise, but the high society knows my troll self too well by now— fake a different quadrantmate one too many times and they start to get a little suspicious. It's too bad, really. I always like seeing Bro perform."

"Can you not go as yourself?"

"Nah. I'm kind of under the radar. Actually, I think my bro likes to pretend I don't exist to the public. If I don't have a previous connection to him, it makes it simpler if my disguise ever gets out. I interface fairly often with him in troll form for public relations and gig stuff, so. The restrictions on human access are pretty high for these types of things anyway, so I’d have a slim chance of getting in regardless."

You let out a low whistle. "I'm surprised the government lets balls like this even happen."

"Oh, they'd have a field day if they found out all the limitations. As I said, my bro doesn't tell them everything."

"What's the point of keeping something like that from them though?"

"Who knows. Bro acts in mysterious ways."

"Your brother sounds like a very strange person."

"He is, honestly. Watch out with him, or he'll have you under his thumb before you know what's happening."

"I think I can handle myself. Thanks again for your help, though. I'll let you know if anything goes wrong."

"Sure thing." You tell him your transmitter code and step out of the tiny room as the lights flicker back to red, wondering how you ever got so tangled up in this mess. A day ago, you would have scoffed at the thought of working with a human, and now you’ve not only gotten a potential lead from one, but you’re going to need help from _Eridan_ next.

You do not relish the look on his face when you tell him this.

One step at a time. You should probably find Aradia.

You dial her on your transmitter and almost freak out when it rings one too many times, but she finally answers.

"Sollux. Hey."

"AA? Are you okay?" She's almost never late in picking up.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just eating the best roasted grubnuts of my life. It's practically a religious experience. How was your inter-species feelings jam?"

"Please don't call it that, and never mind your grubnuts. Meet me at my coordinates, okay? I found out some shit that is definitely going to involve some planning."

"Exciting! You won't be dissing these grubnuts when you try them though, they're amazing."

"I'm sure,” you say, probably too dismissively. But hey, you’ve a lot of important things to do, and you need your moirail _right now_. “Just... get over here."


	9. Chapter 9

The grubnuts truly are amazing, and Aradia's smug expression does not stop you from devouring half the bag before you can manage to even begin telling her the events of your meeting with Dirk. You have no regrets.

"So," she says after a span. "What did you guys talk about, again? Because until you tell me, I'm going to assume that your entire conversation centered around how hungry you are and how right I am about everything."

You take a very generous pause in your grubnut munching and say: "We talked about a lot of different stuff."

"Wow, thanks for clearing that up, I understand completely why you were gone for an hour now."

"Was it that long?" 

"It was, actually. So...?"

"Well," you say. You eat another grubnut. "Well."

"That's it, you're cut off." She snatches the bag away from you and rolls it closed despite your protests.

"Fine," you say, without even a hint of pouting in your voice. Not a hint. "Well, basically..."

***

"So you did find out some actual information!" Aradia says, looking pleased. "Sollux, I'm impressed! And from a human, too!"

"Surprisingly, he really wasn't all that bad to talk to. Not nearly as much like pulling fangs as I'd imagined."

Aradia laughs. "I'm sure you pretended otherwise to keep up the facade."

"Well." You hesitate. "Actually, I told him I thought he was okay, for a human."

"Did you? Are oinkbeats flying?" She looks at you suspiciously. 

"Yeah, I know." You sigh, and try to reach for the grub nuts again while Aradia is distracted by her suspicion, but she's having none of it. "It was a judgement lapse," you explain.

"Oh, my little Thollukth, growing up, being all diplomatic and friendly with humankind, I am so proud."

"If you don't shut your squawk gaper right now I'm going to punch you in the face," you grumble. 

"Now, now." She smiles brightly at you. "No need to get all huffy about it. I'm not your kismesis after all, am I? Save your insults for Eridan."

"Ugh," you say. "Speaking of whom. According to Dirk, it's likely I won't be able to get in to this party without a highblood quadrantmate."

"Uh-oh." Aradia sighs. "Typical highblood royalty bullshit. Of course."

"Yep. He's going to be insufferable after this."

"Sollux." Aradia put her hand on your shoulder and looks at you solemnly. "I'm pretty sure that if he gets any more obnoxious than he already is, he'll literally explode. We can at least take solace in that fact."

You can't help but laugh at this, and somehow it keeps you in high spirits until you're back at your hotel. 

***

When you arrive back, Nepeta and Equius are getting ready to check out — rather than call Feferi to request more nights, you all figured that if things were going to get hairy, having your belongings bundled with your escape route would probably be prudent, at this point. Eridan, unsurprisingly, is lying on the couch and complaining about how bored he is and how he doesn't want to have to move his stuff _again_ , especially not onto your ship.

"Eridan," you snap, and your good mood is gone in a flash. This is a bad sign. 

"W-what?" he says, stopping mid-rant looking up at you like a guilty pawbeast. You gesture to him impatiently until he gets the hint and follows you out of the room.

"I need your help," you say, as soon as you’re sure there’s no one around to hear this. It’s going to be bad enough as it is. "We're doing a sort of underground operation, and... what?"

His chagrined expression has vanished, and he suddenly looks like a grub on 12th Perigee's Eve. "You need... my help."

"Um, yes.” Goddamnit. This may actually be worse than you expected.

" _My_ help."

Yes, I already said that," you say, your sense of impending doom growing with every word. "Do I need to repeat myself again or something?"

"Oh, no, I heard you perfectly fine." He leans against the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking inordinately pleased with himself. You can't help but groan and you’re almost tempted to tell him never mind, you'll just try your luck with your tealblood ID, but you shove down your pride. The outcome of this investigation is probably more important than making sure his stupid ego isn't stroked, after all. "Well, I am shocked. I never thought I'd see the day you needed my help. What exactly do you need my help _for_ , anyway?"

You're pretty sure he's just trying to repeat the phrase "my help" as often as possible at this point. "There's a highblood ball I need to get into tonight for the investigation, and I'll only be allowed in if I have a highblood quadrantmate."

"So," he says slowly. "You need me to stand in as your... matesprit?"

"No, as my fucking kismesis, are you daft? Do you really think you could pull off matespritship with me?" You are appalled at even the thought.

"Why, do you think I'm not romantic? I can be romantic. _Fef_ obviously thinks I'm romantic, after all."

"Okay," you say. "Okay. We are stopping this conversation here."

"Why?" he says. "I don't think you believe me yet."

"I believe you! I swear. It's fine. I'm sure you can be romantic. I just don't think I can reciprocate, is all."

"Well," he says, sated. "You should have said so." You don't really trust yourself to say anything in response, so you don't, and change the subject instead.

"We'll probably leave around eight thirty tonight, after we've gotten settled back into the ship," you say. He makes an unhappy face at this notion, but says nothing, thank the Signless for that. "We should probably wear our best clothes. Possibly uniforms. Huh... I wonder if I should ask Dirk about the dress code? He didn't mention anything on the subject..." You trail off, pondering this. 

"So are you and this human on a first name basis now?"

"I guess," you say. You hadn't really thought about it, but it kind of just happened. 

"How cute," he simpers in response. You are going to tear his throat out, you swear. Fortunately, you’ll now have an outlet for all your pent-up black feelings to look forward to tonight. You hope it’ll get them out of your system once and for all. 

"I guess I could call him," you say, mostly to yourself. “Feels like using the lifeline too quickly, though."

"If you want my opinion – "

"I don't."

"If you want my opinion," he begins again, stubbornly ignoring you, "I don't think uniforms would be a very good idea. If you're not goin' to use your tealblood card, which I assume you're not if you're usin' me, you'll probably garner more information if you're dressed to blend in. Which of course means in my blood colors," he finishes smugly. You have to force yourself to pause and think about this instead of immediately dismissing it.

And damn it all, as much as you hate to admit it, he has a point. It's going to be a struggle to wear his blood colors without making a disgusted face the entire time, but you suppose that will only make your fake kismessistude more convincing. 

"...Fine," you say begrudgingly. "As long as you've got something in my size that doesn't make me look like an idiot." 

"Oh, my wardrobe is extensive, don't you worry your buzzy little posterior," he says smartly. You stare at him, appalled.

"I can only assume by that comment that you've spent time staring at my ass, which of course is highly inappropriate since I am currently your stand in captain," you say. Whoops, you’ve gone into business mode accidentally. That’s odd.

"No need to get all flustered, it's only an expression," he reassures you. "Though if I _had_ been lookin' in that direction," he continues lowly, "it would only be because I had good reason to."

All you can do is continue to stare. He winks.

"See? And you didn't believe me when I said I could be romantic." You open your mouth, ready to make a comment on how if he thinks his awful pick up lines constitute flushed romance he has a lot to learn, but he absconds back into the hotel room with a wave before you can get a single word out. Sometimes you think he knows exactly how obnoxious he is and is just having fun with it. But no. There's no way. It's just too much. After taking a moment to gather yourself, you heave a heavy sigh and follow him. It’s time to prepare yourself for an evening of wearing violet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I marveled over how little happens in this chapter I realized that things do happen in later chapters that probably justify a mature rating. So there it is.


	10. Chapter 10

"So," Eridan is saying as you enter the room, tossing the contents of his suitcase everywhere and causing Equius to lapse into a state of sweaty distress at the disarray. "I've got a lot a options for you here. Fluttery, pseudo-fitted, sleek and chic... and how well do you want to coordinate? The clash-match trend _is_ popular now, if you think you can pull it off." He looks at you expectantly, as if he thinks he'd been speaking Alternian the whole time.

"I have no idea what any of those words mean," you say flatly. "And besides, shouldn't we be waiting until we're back on the ship to do this? We're just about to check out and you're cluttering up the floor."

"But this is urgent!" he says. "Coordinatin' outfits is a lot of work, as easy as you may think it sounds. It's not only the color, you know. It's the style, the general feel—"

"I believe you!" you say. Anything to make him stop talking about fashion, for Signless's sake. "Just find something that works well with whatever you're wearing and as long as it isn't ridiculously tight on me I will be totally fine with it, I swear."

"I... well, that's no fun," he says, deflating. "I guess I'll pick something nice and borin' for you."

"Thanks," you say, relieved. As long as it isn't some garishly tight purple monstrosity, honestly you'll be happy. "and can we please want until we get back to the ship? I might have some, I don't know, matching boots or something that will work with whatever you pick out."

"Well why didn't you say so?" he says, sounding unreasonably happy. "Addin' new components to outfits is so excitin'! How many pairs of boots do you own, do you think? And in what colors?"

"Fuck, I don't know. Can you just pack up your stuff so we can leave?"

"Fine," he says grumpily, and unceremoniously shoves everything within arm's reach into his suitcase in an apparent fit of efficiency. Equius sighs with relief, mopping his face with one of the hotel towels. 

"Well!" Aradia says. "Shall we get going then?"

The checkout process is surprisingly painless, and before you know it you're out in the unnatural bright of day again. You walk back to your ship together, discussing plans and joking. Eridan is uncharacteristically silent, probably concentrating on lugging his inordinately heavy and cumbersome sleep away bag halfway across the city. You don't envy him at all. 

"Sollux," Aradia is saying. "Alternia to Sollux." She waves her hand in front of your face.

"Sorry, I spaced out for a second," you say. "What is it?"

"I was asking what time you have to be at the ball."

You shrug, and give her the general timeline that Dirk gave you. "There isn't really any specific time we need to be there, if you need my help with anything on the ship."

"No, I shouldn't. Equius and Nepeta can handle takeoff prep, obviously, so you can just focus on your mission."

"Of course."

"So that means it's time to pick out outfits, right?" Eridan says, appearing suddenly at your side, breathless from carrying his suitcase such a far distance. He places it carefully in the cargo area of your ship once you're all inside though, you notice, instead of flinging it all over the floor again. 

"I suppose," you say begrudgingly. "Wait here, I'll get the boots."

It takes far too long, but in the end Eridan is finally satisfied with both your outfits. He deems your boots unsuitable almost immediately, but is forced to use a pair after realizing that none of his shoes will fit you, as they're custom made for his weird seadweller feet. This adds at least another thirty minutes onto your outfit choosing time, as he has to take a moment to rant about how difficult the life of a fashionisto is when you have to work with such ugly footwear. 

You refrain from tripping him the next time he theatrically strolls by you as he lectures. 

The outfit you end up with is not something you would ever be caught dead in of your own volition, but you have to admit it's not the worst thing in the world. There are too many ruffles for your taste, and the purple detailing makes you want to scratch it right off, but at least there's a hint of gold around the shoulders, and it's close enough to your blood color to be a comfort. Eridan's outfit has similar subtle gold accents, but it's otherwise garishly extravagant, from his dumb purple cape all the way to the tips of his pointed, polished purple boots. He'd offered you a cape as well, but from the look on your face he thankfully hadn't insisted. 

"Sollux," Aradia says, checking the time on her transmitter. "It's almost seven thirty. Shouldn't you be getting ready to go?"

"Oh, shit. Yeah. Thanks." You fiddle a little with your uniform, and turn to Eridan. "Ready? ...What's wrong with you?" He's looking at you like you just swallowed a live grub.

"Is that really all you're goin' to do?"

"Uh, yeah? What else is there?"

"Look, you're not goin' to be able to get in if you look like a disheveled programmer playin' dress up in a seadweller's fancy clothes."

You think about this. "But that's literally what I'm doing."

"And so the less they can tell, the better." He gives you a once over. "And will they _ever_ be able to tell. Come on, you need a lot of work before we can even think about leaving this ship." He grabs your arm before you can protest and marches you out of the room, Aradia doing absolutely nothing to stop him, the croakbeast. She's probably enjoying your pain. She'd better not be flipping black on you, you've got quite enough unwanted blackrom in your life right now.

Eridan pulls you into the bathroom, producing his strange, foreboding bag of cosmetic tubes from apparently thin air. Despite your cries of dissent, he yanks a bunch of them onto the corner and fusses with your face for a while, mumbling more of his nonsense phrases like "lowblood toning" and "complimentary coloration." You wonder vaguely if this is how people feel when you talk about programming, but mostly you just screw your eyes shut against the assault of gel and powder and will it to end soon. Amazingly, it is either very fast or you dropped into a coma of withdrawal and didn't notice time go by, because before long, it is. Your tie is straightened, your boots are polished, and you're actually ready to go.

"Which way is this place, then?" Eridan asks, giving himself a final once over in the mirror. You glance tentatively at your reflection as well. You hate to admit it, but you actually look kind of good. A little like a douchebag, but at least you're a _stylish_ douchebag. Maybe that's the best you can get in this situation. 

"I've got the coordinates on my transmitter," you say. "It's not too far from the old hotel, actually."

"You mean we have to go all the way back there, after we just came all this way earlier?" He huffs. "What a waste."

"Like you were doing anything important," you retort. "Come on, let's get going, I want to allow time in case we have trouble getting in."

"As if," Eridan says, rippling his fins proudly. "The only one more qualified to get in than me is Fef. I sure am glad they actually recognize noble blood in some places still," he tells you. "I was startin' to get worried."

"I was just thinking the opposite," you say flatly. "Equality my ass. Oh well, I guess Dirk did say that the entry requirements are kept pretty hush hush."

"But everyone still knows, right? I guess it's just by word a mouth."

"I guess." You're not really in the mood to discuss the logistics of highblood parties at the moment. You're feeling ill enough just going to one at all, especially masquerading as this fool's kismesis. 

And when you arrive, you feel even sicker. The mansion where the ball is taking place is atrociously grandiose; tiny cherubs spit sparkling blue water into a fountain that ripples around the front wall, and seadwellers sit all along the stone rim already, kicking off their high heeled shoes and polished boots to splash each other playfully.The lawn is perfectly manicured, and smooth classical violin wafts from the open doors, along with a shining dim light and the smell of food that just screams "high class." As you walk up the driveway, you pass rows and rows of skillfully shaped bushes, trimmed carefully to resemble highblood symbols and various lusii. The lawn and bushes both glimmer with dew, probably from a built in sprinkler system, as this planet is far too dry for it to be natural. You are absolutely revolted by it all. 

Eridan, however, is in his element. He throws an arm around your shoulder casually despite your protests, and waves at passing trolls as they glance at you both, his back straight and shoulders confidently back as you walk towards the front gate. 

"You're good at this," you mumble, hunching your shoulders at all the trolls staring at you. Right now you're glad that you're not wearing anything with your symbol or color on it, besides the hint of gold trimming, because despite how degrading the implication is that you're Eridan's "property," if you'd been decked out in mustard yellow you probably wouldn't have been allowed past the front gates. 

"Of course I am," Eridan says smugly. "I grew up goin' to parties like these. It's only natural." He's just as smug about it as you would expect, but you still can't help but feel a little impressed. You imagine you're making the same face as he did after your little psionics display at the bar the other night. It's a strange thing, watching others do what they do best. Especially when you utterly fail at the task. "We're here for the ball," Eridan says airily once you reach the door, not batting a single eyelash at the burly indigoblood staring down at you both. 

"Are you now," he says gruffly. "I hope this lowblood is your quadrantmate, or you're in trouble." You swallow. Shit. Will you be able to pull it off? You're really not feeling especially caliginous right now. You're still far too grateful to Eridan for even being able to get you both _this_ far. 

"My quadrantmate?" Eridan says, sounding a little nervous himself. "A course he is."

"Is he. Now, which quadrant would he be in? I'll need to put in a note on the guest list. Matesprit, is he?" 

"Uh, no, he's—" Eridan begins hesitantly, trailing off when the bouncer looks at you both, utterly unimpressed. Eridan's arm is still around your shoulder, and he lifts it off, perhaps deciding that you can't pull this facade off after all. His claws catch on the gold threading as he does this and unravels it slightly, and this, for some reason, is all you need to get your bloodpusher pumping again. You flare suddenly back to life, shoving his arm off the rest of the way. Eridan looks at you with surprise. 

"My fucking _matesprit,_ are you serious?" you say with more haughtiness than you even knew was possible. "Do you think I'd willingly wax red with this fishlicking _asshole_?" Eridan takes a wide-eyed step back from you, then gets the picture.

"Honestly," he says, agreeing and looking at the bouncer contemptuously. "Someone of _my_ status, with a lowblood matesprit? In his fuckin' dreams."

" _My_ dreams?" you repeat back to him, sneering, and it's the same tone you always take with him when you fight but for some reason, you're having fun this time instead of detesting him. "Are you so deluded that you'd actually—"

"Alright, alright," the bouncer says, rolling his eyes. "I get it. I'll put him down as your kismesis. Save your sweet nothings for after the party, though, would you? This isn't the place." He runs his finger down the guest list then raises his eyebrows at Eridan. "I still don't see you on the guest list, though."

And Eridan is speechless again. "We're... special guests of DJ Strider," you say. This had better work.

"Oh, of course. You're the ones he mentioned. Very well, I'll add you in." You do not fail to notice he looks at Eridan again when he says this, instead of you. "Given names and exact hemospectrum ranking, if you would?" You tell him, and after writing your information down he carefully pens in a spade between you both before waving you inside. "The DJ won't be on for another half hour or so, and until then it's standard ballroom dancing. I hope you know how to waltz," he adds, obviously directing this last comment towards you with a heavy tone of skepticism. 

"Of course I do," you snap back, and pull Eridan with you through the doors. 

"Do you really?" he says lowly, dislodging himself from your grip and straightening his cape a little.

"Fuck no. Do I have to?"

He shrugs. "It's not hard. I'll teach you." You just stare at him. "Come on, if we don't do anythin' we'll stand out. Fantastic display, by the way. I thought you weren't good at this."

"So did I," you admit. "I had no idea I had it in me."

"Well, I hope you have walzin' in you too." Before you can protest again, you find yourself in the middle of the polished marble dance floor. 


	11. Chapter 11

"Follow my feet," Eridan is saying to you. "No, no, stop tryin' to lead, you don't know how to do that." You have no idea what you're doing that constitutes leading, unless it's fancy talk for humiliated stumbling. 

"This is stupid," you grumble. 

"Behave," Eridan says sharply, and you stop being embarrassed for a moment to raise your eyebrows at him.

"So forward today," you say. It's a pretty weak rebuttal, but you're allocating most of your brain power to moving your feet without collapsing onto the dance floor. 

"Because I actually know what I'm doin' for once," he says quietly. "Now come on, stop slouchin' your shoulders, you're not a wiggler anymore. Back straight." 

"You're enjoying this, aren't you," you say irritably. 

"It's nice to have to upper hand for once, I admit." The music changes suddenly from a waltz to something horribly soulful and lilting, with scattered high notes that make the whole thing sound like a symphony of wailing meowbeats. They're really pulling out the big guns now, you think wryly, because if you couldn't find humor in the situation you'd probably die on the spot. The song apparently also warrants a different type of dance, and as Eridan shifts you accidentally stomp on his foot, hard. 

"Watch it, would you?" he says. You find his retaliatory shin nudge just a mite too aggressive, and tell him as much as you push him back.

"Do you want to get us kicked out? At least make an attempt to _pretend_ to dance," he hisses. Thankfully, this is the song's cue to end abruptly, and you detach yourself from him with relief.

"Look, a break. Can we stop dancing now?" you say wearily. 

"You lasted like two songs. You could try a little harder than that." 

"i'm hungry," you say evasively.

"We just ate!" He follows you anyway. 

The buffet table is a sight to see, not that you should be surprised. You can't even name half the food on it. You stare at your choices, overwhelmed, then look back at Eridan pathetically. "Never mind, actually," you say feebly. 

He just rolls his eyes and spears a pink glob of... _something_ with a frilly toothpick. "Doesn't your crew ever have to go to events like these? I've had to go to a about a million with Fef for work reasons, never mind the ones I went to growing up."

"Yeah," you say. "But I'm usually just manning the lights or security system or something. They don't make me _dance._ " You shudder.

"A course. Now, what time did Dirk say his brother was comin' on?" Eridan asks, squinting in the direction of the violinist. "It looks like the band is packin' up."

"I don't know," you say, slumping onto the nearby staircase. "Can we just hide upstairs or something until he's on break? I'm tired of pretending I like it here."

"If that's what you've been tryin' to do, you've been doin' a terrible job of it," Eridan says, amused. "And no. We should mingle with some highbloods, see if we can get any info. Can't forget about the mission, right? Besides, it'll be good for you."

"You're the worst." You look hopelessly around the room for something to distract Eridan from forcing you to make conversation, and suddenly spot your savior, grabbing involuntarily onto Eridan's hand in your excitement.

"What the hell are you doin'?" he says, looking distrustfully down at your clenched palms like they're foreign objects. 

"Eridan," you say. "Please tell me there's alcohol in those pitchers over there."

"Oh thank Gl'bgolyb," he says at once, following you willingly to the adjacent table. "Might as well loosen up a bit before we start minglin'. Fuck, is this...?" He picks up a pitcher of amber liquid and sniffing it experimentally. "Sea cider! I knew it," he says, as if the phrase means anything to you. "I used to be allowed to have a sip or two at these sorts a fancy parties when I was barely a pupae, and now I'm gonna have a _full fuckin' glass_ and nobody is goin' to stop me." He pours a champagne flute full with boundless enthusiasm and sips it eagerly. "This, Sol, this is the fuckin' stuff."

"Give me that," you say, grabbing for the pitcher. You pour a flute of your own and take a cautious sip. The liquid is crisp and heady all at once, with the slow burn you don't associate with anything that would normally go into a champagne glass. Maybe Aradia was right when she said you need to branch out from your honey drinks, because this shit is delicious. And probably incredibly potent. You drain your glass and can feel your head buzzing already. 

You glance over and Eridan has done the same, his eyes shining with glee. 

"Exhilaratin'," he says. "I live to defy my grubhood." He pours his second glass and sips at it at a much slower pace than his first. You do the same, feeling much better about your situation already. 

"Do you," you say, swallowing another mouthful of the sea cider. You are forming a scathing remark on whether silly-looking purple capes help one defy wigglerhood when a blast of metallic noise knocks the words right out of your talk chute.

"This is DJ Strider, straight from the far planetary reaches of Adjentia, bringing you some hot swinging tracks to keep you on your toes and put you on your feet!" an overly enthusiastic Tealblood announces, undeterred by the apparent microphone issues. "Everyone put your hands together fooooor—" The screeching interference in the background manifests itself into an artificial, crackling computer voice that announces DJ Strider's name so loudly that you clap your hands over your ears. Eridan's fins flip flat against his head in distress.

"Oh dear," he says glumly. "Are you sure this is our guy?"

DJ Strider, apparently not done with his theatrical introduction, rises slowly from the stage in a puff of bright red smoke, his equipment slowly twisting into place around him like electronic serpents. You recognize a keyboard, a set of turntables, an amplifier... and what's the thing with all the strings and joints? It looks a lot like the instrument Dirk was playing at the Oinkbeast's nug, and you'd bet your lusus that Dirk custom built it for him. You suppose their clientele is different enough that no one else has made the connection before, and remind yourself that for all intents and purposes Dirk is just a lowblood musician troll, certainly no relation to this flashy human DJ.

Upon finishing his ascent onto the stage, his hands reach for his turntables as if magnetized, and a smooth light flickers on from under the stage that illuminates him in a way that is both eerie and oddly flattering. It gives his movements an glowing, airy effect as he strikes downwards, fingers moving nimbly across switches and buttons and discs and countless devices you cannot name so that he can begin his set. You almost laugh at how serious it all is, and think to yourself that the music cannot possibly live up to such a grand introduction.

The notes start slow, familiar. The beat to some popular radio track from a sweep ago. You recognize an even more familiar melody... one of the old Alternian anthems? And then it all comes to a crescendo and you take back every insult you made to the profession of being a DJ, because anyone who says otherwise has obviously never seen a DJ of Strider's caliber at work. It is spellbinding to watch, flawless like a perfectly formatted block of code that compiles on the first try, and you find yourself riveted to the spot as he plays track after track. Highbloods shuffle and bob their heads around you, and maybe it is the sea cider kicking in but you cannot move but to blink and listen with every atom of your body. Eridan, beside you, is equally still, at a loss for words for once, so it must be the alcohol after all.

The set ends abruptly, after what feels like a minute or maybe hours, and it's quiet when it does, almost eerily so. Every little scuffle of a shoe or rustle of fabric is amplified against the smooth marble walls. One troll tries to clap but the sound is harsh in the silence, and he quickly gives up. You take a breath, steady yourself against the sharp edge of the table, watch which way Dave goes when he exits the stage. 

"Come on," you say, pulling Eridan perhaps a little harder than you'd intended by the arm. The cider is influencing you, you can feel it, but it's merged with the afterglow of the set only enough to calm your nerves, give you confidence, not enough to completely throw you off balance. You're left at a perfect equilibrium, and you silently thank the Signless for it. 

Eridan makes a little sound of protest, the sort of whiny, unsure noise you've come to know very well over the past few days. You approach the shadowy curtains behind the stage carefully. 

"DJ Strider?" you call out. 

He turns around, pulls down his shades a little, looks at you both. "Yo." And you immediately notice the similarities between him and Dirk, with that single stoic catchphrase... but then he keeps going. "Look," he says, "if you think you can just walk up with your drills and penetrate this mountain of badass, take all the little kids that are climbing up and making little dirt piles, throw them off their feet and drop them into some big fish trolls ocean, you are so wrong, and you'd better pack up your equipment and turn right around because this peak is closed as _fuck_ and there ain't no tunneling through."

You're not sure exactly what he's trying to say, except that he's probably got the wrong idea about why you're there.

"Er," you say. "Actually, your brother Dirk sent me. He said he'd be telling you I was coming, and why..."

"Ah," he says, and there is a perceptible shift in expression as he immediately drops the front. "Shit. Yeah. I'm Dave." He sticks out a hand and you shake it carefully, sharing a cautious glance with Eridan as you do so. You both know you're still treading on dangerous ground here. 

"And so you know what our investigation is about?" you continue.

"Yeah," he says. "And I wouldn't normally tell a couple rando trolls this shit, but Dirk, shockingly, seems to trust you, and who can I trust if not my little bro, right? So I'll divulge a few tidbits for you. First of all, these parties are thick with scheming constantly, but it's usually just your everyday highblood bullshit." He pauses, adjusts the headphones around his neck. "Recently, though, there's been a new highblood coming to these types of things more and more, always with his lowblood matesprit. And the guy's bad news, lemme tell you. I hope he's got moirail too, because he needs some serious papping, if you get my drift. Anyway, I've heard whispers through the grapevine about him, and I'm pretty sure is something bigger than the usual gossip."

"This definitely sounds like a lead," you say, trying to contain your excitement. "What's this troll's name? Can you describe him for me? Is he here tonight?"

"Whoa," Dave says, leaning against a speaker. "One question at a time, man. He's a big dude, as highbloods tend to be. Purpleblood. Usually stands out like a sore thumb due to the nasty-ass juggalo paint all over his face, but he keeps it clean at this particular venue. Whether it's dress code related or his own choice, I got no clue though. Don't know his name either. Just a nickname that others call him."

"What's that?"

"It's TC." Shit. That sounds familiar...

"Can you describe his matesprit for me?"

"Yeah, sure. Tiny little waif of a thing, but with these huge bull horns. Pretty intense. They make quite the pair when they're together, hard to miss. Even when TC isn't all clownified."

Your bloodpusher, you're pretty sure, just stopped beating. "Do you know his blood color?"

"Well," says Dave slowly, "I'm not exactly an expert on telling troll blood colors unless they're highbloods shoving it in your face like your friend here." He looks pointedly at Eridan, who sniffs a little. "I've seen him in the Purpleblood's colors sometimes, but I don't have much else to go on. Sorry I can't be more help on that particular front."

"You don't have any pictures of him or anything, do you?" you ask hopefully. 

Dave snorts. "Hell no. Do I look like snapping shots of crazy mafia trolls is part of my job description? No thank you. As it so happens, they're both here tonight though. Lucky you."

"Fuck, they are?" You glance over your shoulder at the emptying dance floor and Dave laughs.

"You won't see them in the main ballroom, I can tell you that. So no worries. I wouldn't have started talking about them if I'd thought there was a chance they could sneak up on us."

"Of course," you say, nodding with relief. "So... where _would_ we see them?"

"Shit, that's a good question. Probably either upstairs, or on the balcony, er... or in the side hall, maybe..."

"Thanks for your help," you say, defeated. 

"You'll find them," he assures. "And fuck, I hardly know you, but make sure you're on your best behavior if you end up actually talking to this guy. I usually don't believe in the caste-superiority shit, being not a fucking troll and all, but even I get seriously intimidating vibes from this guy, even when he's playing sweet. This is not a dude you want to trifle with."

"Damn," you say. "Thanks for the warning. And hear that, Eridan? Best behavior, he said. None of that seadweller superiority from you."

"I'm not stupid," Eridan says shortly. Dave snorts.

"Well, I'm sure you two will be able to handle it. Check the balcony first — it's right through those double doors and on the opposite side of the next room. It's not necessarily the mostly likely place they'll be, but it's be the best place to have a private conversation — or to eavesdrop on one — so you'd better hope they're out there."

"Right. Thanks again for being willing to talk to us. And thanks to your brother, too, he — I don't know what we would have done without you guys, honestly," you admit.

"That's what we're here for. Striders are irreplaceable." He winks at you, and since you're not really sure what to say in response to this you just leave with a nod, Eridan trailing behind you. 

"If this fails," you say, "We're pretty much back to square one, because how are we going to find them, just go to more of these types of parties until we get lucky? I'm not sure how long I'll be able to get away with it." You open the double doors a little too forcefully, scattering a couple of bluebloods.

"Well," Eridan says, unusually placating, "We'll see if they're there, and even the right trolls first."

"That's true," you say, taking a breath. "No sense in worrying yet." The room you're currently walking through is enormous, some sort of dining hall with those familiar, hatching cave-like stone floors that gives each footstep a resounding echo. Giant, lacquered chairs are placed in rows along wooden tables with royal fuchsia runners down the middles, stacked with empty bowls. You spy the door to the balcony along the opposite side of the wall, just like Dave said, and take a deep breath before carefully turning the gold knob and pushing the door open. 


	12. Chapter 12

It's cold and dark outside, the temperature having dropped significantly since you entered the ballroom. And somehow, you're rather high up, an expanse of gardens and fountains stretching out below you. You suppose the house was probably built on a slope to create this effect. You look up, and notice even more balconies above you. None are as big as this one, though. It stretches all the way across the side of the house, with a painstakingly detailed metal railing wrapping around the edge, protecting balcony goers from an accidental fall. You can tell now why Dave thought this would be a good place for a private conversation—the wind is so strong out here that it would mask any words said further than about five feet away, and there are so many tucked away, shadowy pillars to hide behind that it would be easy to converse mostly unseen. At first, it doesn't even appear like anyone else is there, and you almost go back inside, but a moment later you spot two shadowed shapes on the opposite end of the balcony from you both. There's a flash of giant, bull lusus like horns, and your heart nearly stops. This is it. This is them. 

Unfortunately, as you previously observed, you're going to have to get pretty damn close to actually eavesdrop.

Luck seems to be on your side, however. The two trolls have their backs turned to you, and you manage to get just feet away. There's a nice, convenient pillar right between you and them too, so you pull Eridan behind it and scope out the nearest exit. Also close. Good. 

"Gamzee, this just, uh, doesn't seem like a very good idea," you faintly hear one of the trolls say. It sounds too meek to be the highblood, so you assume it's his big horned troll matesprit. And now the highblood has a name. _Gamzee._

"What are you all babbling your motherfucking lips on about?" Gamzee replies, in a hazy, drawling tone. You draw in a breath. He's got the voice of someone with royal blood, but it's not _particularly_ intimidating.

"There are just, a lot of things that could go wrong," his matesprit insists unsteadily. 

"Nothing will go wrong, get all those worries up out of your think pan, my flush brother."

"My think pan, is fine, in fact, because it is not, uh, drug addled like yours."

"There's nothing wrong with my motherfucking thinkpan, drugs just make it sweeter. Drugs will make our poor compadre all up and sweeter too."

You have no idea what they're talking about, but it sounds like a lead if you've ever heard one.

"But just because, uh, we hope it will, doesn't meet it's going to work," the big-horned troll says. "And it might not even, fix anything, uh, if the color, isn't the problem."

"Tavros, now," Gamzee says, his voice dipping dangerously. "You wouldn't be trying to make a motherfucker all up and depressed, would you? Questioning his faith in all the motherfucking miracles?"

Finally, you can stop imagining his matesprit as 'big horns.' "I would not, uh, do that, to you, no," Tavros says. His stutter seems to get worse as he gets audibly more nervous. "That would not, uh, be something, that I would, uh, do."

"Well, that's all up and fine then now, isn't it," Gamzee says, and the airy quality returns suddenly to his tone. "All up and fine." Somehow, you have trouble believing this, and remember Dave's caution that this isn't a troll to be messing with. 

"Yes, it is, uh, fine, I am just, worried."

"Well, you should stop all up and motherfucking doing that then, shouldn't you?"

"Yes, I guess I, uh, should," Tavros says, sounding unconvinced.

"And tomorrow we'll up and pay our motherfucking mutant friend a visit, just like we had planned."

"But what if, Karkat still doesn't, uh, want to use it?" You hardly hear Gamzee's reply, your bloodpusher is pounding so strongly. _Karkat?_ Did you actually hear that right?

"Then we'll just have to all up and do some forcible motherfucking convincing then, won't we?" Gamzee says lowly. Fuck. Fuck. Wait. What? One of your horns raps sharply against the pillar you're hiding behind as you lean forward quickly to hear better, and you wince at the sudden silence from the two trolls you're eavesdropping on. "Maybe we should make our motherfucking way back inside to the party," Gamzee says, after a pause.

"That sounds, like a good idea," Tavros replies, with an obvious note of relief. Your already overstimulated bloodpusher almost does a triple flip as you think for a second they're about to exit through the door next to you and Eridan, but their footsteps grow fainter instead of louder, and a door out of sight creaks, then slams shut. You breath a sigh of relief and lean against the smooth stone pillar, trying to calm yourself down. You can feel Eridan staring at you, and try not to pay too much attention to him. But he persists, pulling at your arm, and you're forced to crack open an eye in annoyance. 

"What the hell is goin' on with you?" he says. "Makin' sure that I would be on my best behavior, and then almost screwin' everythin' up by slammin' your head into a freakin' pillar?"

"I think I have a headache from all the g's you just dropped in that sentence," you say, closing your eyes again and pressing your cheek into your new architectural best friend.

"Seriously, Sol," Eridan says, pulling at your shoulder. He almost sounds legitimately concerned. "What's up with you all a the sudden? I know this Gamzee fellow was a little scary, but it's nothin' more than Dave told us..." You continue to refuse to respond, eyes squeezed shut behind your lenses, and he says his next words very hesitantly. "This isn't about that troll they were talkin' about, is it?"

" _Yes_ , okay?" you snap, finally looking up at him properly, swallowing. You didn't want to get vulnerable, not around him, around anyone but him, but... "Fuck, I... Eridan, I thought KK... Karkat... was dead, how the fuck can he still be alive, I haven't even seen him since before the fall of the empire, I was barely past wigglerhood back then."

Eridan's eyes are too wide as he looks at you, scared doebeast eyes, like he doesn't know what to do with himself. Or, more likely, with you. And of course he doesn't, you don't even know what the fuck to do with you. "Sol, do you want to... should we go after them?" He keeps using that nickname.

"I... no, I want to but at the same time I don't, I just... I just need to get back to Aradia before I do anything fucking rash, okay?" You can feel your psionics starting to slip out of your control, your body growing warm with static, as it always does when you start to panic, and Eridan just isn't going to cut it in the papping department. He takes his hand off your shoulder quickly, like he recognizes this.

"Alright," he says, "Fine. Look, do you want to call her on your transmitter or somefin'? Get calmed down a bit, or whatever, before we go back to the ship?"

"...Yeah. I can handle it though. It's fine. Just, uh... wait inside, okay?" You press the button for her dialing number in shakily on your transmitter and put on your earpiece, making sure the connection is stable. Eridan opens his mouth as if to protest but then closes it, nods ever so slightly, retreats through the balcony door.

"Aradia?" you say hesitantly, as soon as you hear the sound of the opposite receiver clicking on. 

"Oh shit, Sollux, what's wrong?" Of course she can tell. Even from one word. This lifts the weight instantly, if only by a marginal amount.

"I... Aradia, do you remember... Karkat?" It's still difficult for you to say his name out loud. It's only the second time in countless sweeps, after all. 

"Karkat? Your first black crush? Of course I remember him!" You can hear her get too excited, and then quickly temper it. "We figured he got culled sweeps ago by the drones though, right...?"

"That's what I thought," you say. "But...but I..." You can feel the panic rising again. "Look, I'll be back to the ship soon. Just talk to me, okay? But not about this. I'll explain the situation later. I'm sorry, but right now I just..."

"It's fine, honeybee, it's fine," Aradia says soothingly, using a nickname you only ever hear when she's really worried. "Tell me the best thing about this highblood party."

"I..." You struggle to remember anything beyond the last few minutes. Dave was okay, but you wouldn't exactly call him a highlight, and the dancing is something you never want to bring up or remember ever again. But then you have it. "There was one good part." 

"Oh?"

"You'll never guess what I had to drink."

You can hear Aradia sigh over the line, try to muffle it. "It wouldn't happen to be something drowning in honey syrup, would it?" she says. 

"No," you say, feeling a little smug. "It wouldn't happen to be that at all."

"Oh no?" she says, surprise in her voice. 

"Nope. It was sea cider. Some sort of fancy highblood drink. Eridan said he used to have sips of it at parties when he was a wiggler, he was beyond excited to drink an entire glass," you explain. 

"Oh, I'm sure he was," Aradia says. "I've heard of the stuff. Lusus above, do you know how much it _costs_? You could buy a hive in Alternia for the cost of a barrel of it."

"Fuck, I'm sure, the shit was amazing and _crazy_ potent," you say. "I didn't have enough for it to really take effect, though."

"Sollux," Aradia says suddenly. "Do you know what you should do?"

"Uh, no?"

"You should steal some of it. Just hide one of the jugs under Eridan's cape or something. Seriously, I've been wanting to try sea cider my whole life but there's no chance in hell we could ever afford it."

"AA, are you serious?" you say. "If we were caught, we'd probably get a public hanging right in the middle of the ballroom."

"I'm sure you can do it," she says dismissively. "Besides, you would do it for me, wouldn't you? Your dear sweet moirail?"

"Er," you say.

"Fine," she says. "I just thought you'd want to take something from the highbloods for once. A little chance to get back at them. But apparently not."

"Shit."

"Make sure you stopper the top properly! You don't want to waste any!" And you know when a battle's been lost. 

"Look, AA, I'll see what I can do, okay? I'll see you soon." As soon as you hang up, you remember your initial subject of conversation, and silently applaud Aradia. She knows you well, and she knows particularly well that if there's anything that will get your mind off of your anxiety, it's an external mission. Something to focus on. Even if it's something as silly as stealing a jug of cider from a highblood ball. 

You sneak back inside and join Eridan, lean against the wall next to him.

"Hey," you say shortly. He gives you a sidelong glance. 

"How you doin'?"

"Just fine," you reply.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep. By the way, want to help me steal some cider?" His head whips to face you, and you wait for his response with bated breath. This is the moment of truth. You're going to have to seriously recalculate your plans if you don't have the use of his cape, after all.

"Hell fuckin' yes I do." And the seadweller has officially been hooked. 


	13. Chapter 13

"Sollux! Are you okay?" Aradia says as soon as you're in the ship, running up to you and grasping your shoulders. 

"Uh, yeah?" you reply, trying to remember why she would be concerned. "Oh. Yes, I'm fine now."

"Are you sure?" she says, peering at you curiously. 

"Yeah, I had some of this cider," you say by way of explanation, holding up the (now slightly depleted) bottle.

"You..." She pauses, as if she's processing this. "Oh, shit, you actually took it?? Sollux, honeybee, I was kidding!" She claps a hand over her mouth.

"Were you?" 

She slowly removes the hand, with a pondering expression. "Well, maybe not. But I didn't think you'd actually be able to get it!"

"Well, I did, and irony of ironies, Eridan's dumb fucking cape was the thing that made it possible." Eridan takes the bottle from you, hides it beneath his cape, then pulls it out in flourish from beneath the purple layers of cloth, as if to demonstrate.

"Well," Aradia says blankly. "I'll drink to that, I guess." She pulls the cider from his grasp before he can say another word, and takes a long swig.

"Er," is all Eridan can apparently bring himself to say in response.

"Oh shit, you're right, this is amazing!" Aradia says, taking another drink as if to emphasize her point. Nepeta and Equius, looking sleepy as if just awoken by the commotion, come up behind her. 

"What is that?" Nepeta says, squinting at the bottle blearily. 

"Yummy drink, want some?" Aradia says with a wink. "Sollux and Eridan, uh—," she sneaks cautious a looks at Equius, "— _procured_ it from that highblood ball they were at."

"Procured," says Equius slowly, then glowers disapprovingly around the room. "Nepeta, you will not have any of this stolen seadweller poison." Aradia winces.

"Oooh, yummy fancy alcohol?" Nepeta says brightly anyway, paying her moirail absolutely no mind. "Gimme some!" Pounce the second appears from nowhere and rubs against her legs, purring in agreement. "...No, no, Pouncy, none for you."

"Here you go!" Aradia says, offering Nepeta the bottle. "Huh, maybe we should get some glasses..." 

You are starting to worry about the amount left in the bottle — the enormous jug suddenly doesn't seem so big when faced with two very alcoholically enthusiastic trolls who definitely haven't had anything this good before. You wonder vaguely if you should ration it, then decide no, this is your reward for going to that ridiculous ball and you will have your reward _now_. 

The fun must end eventually of course, and it does grandly, in an off-kilter pile, with the empty cider jug on its side and a heaping flop of trolls wearing each others' clothing and Eridan's suitcase spilled across the floor. 

It's a distracting enough event that it is enough to set your mind completely off the subject of Karkat all night. In fact, you fail to think of him at all until you wake up the next morning, halfway out of your recuperacoon and sticky with dried soporific residue, your head miraculously clear despite the heavy drinking. You groan anyway because it's bright and you slept weirdly in your 'coon and now you have to be a real adult and make plans and worry and _do things_. 

You resolve to shower first, freak out later, and contemplate a half-in-half-out of his recuperacoon Eridan before deciding he can deal with morning discomfort if you can. You wince anyway at the thought of partially-dried slime in seadweller gills.

You go to Nepeta and Aradia with the information you discovered the previous night as soon as you're dry and they're awake.

"But what kind of drugs are they? Did he give any hints?" Aradia says, looking puzzled.

"No, none, really," you reply. "Something to do with blood, it sounds like, which gives me... a pretty bad feeling."

She nods, furrowing her brow. "Me too." And at your face, "oh, honeybee, i'm sure he's okay."

You swallow. "How the fuck is it possible, Aradia? After all this time?" At least now she's here physically, to calm you, and she does, smoothing a hand over yours soothingly.

"I have no idea, pupae," she says. "Maybe he just went into hiding."

"I guess," you say. "And what if I can't find them? Nepeta, you know them from their handles, right? Would you be able to trace them?"

She shakes her head. "They've been offline for a while, I checked. Probably dropped those handles for safety reasons somewhat recently."

"Shit," you say. "What the fuck are we going to do?"

"You could call Fef," Eridan says with a grimace, speaking up from the edge of his recuperacoon and rubbing dried sopor off his neck. You had no idea he was even listening.

"She's probably at her meeting," you say. "I don't want to bother her. What would she be able to do, anyway?"

He shrugs. "If they've still got the cargo it might have a tracker on it. I bet she could get that info."

You are appalled you didn't think of this before, and that _he_ had to be the one to think of it first, which is almost worse. 

"I'm sure they've done that already," you say dubiously, and because you feel like being purposefully contrary now. Pouting like a wiggler? You? Never.

"Still," says Aradia ponderously, putting a hand on your shoulder. "He has a point. Might as well ask." The face Eridan makes at you is unbearable. 

"But if she's in a meeting..." you say feebly. 

"I can call her, if you don't wanna," he offers, using a tone that very much implies he can see right through your weak excuses.

"Fucking fine," you say, stabbing her number rather ferociously on your transmitter. "I'll do it." You stalk out of the room before you can catch anyone's expressions at your stupid overreaction, and wait for her to pick up. 

"Hey, Sollux, you caught me a meeting break, I don't have long to talk. Is it urgent?"

"Oh shit, FF, I can call back later. Um, I think." You amend the politeness that comes automatically because you're not actually sure it would be a good idea to call back later. After all, you're kind of under big time constraints here.

"No, it's fine! I've got a couple minutes, what's up?"

"Well," you say. "There's a bit of a situation going on involving the investigation."

"Oh no! What kind of situation? Should I make time to come down there and check it out? Is it something Central will have to get involved in?"

"Lusus no, hopefully not," you say. "It's not that big... yet, at least. We're just kind of stuck in our investigation. Not sure how to find a...troll we're looking for. Do you happen to know whether that cargo has any tracking information attached to it?"

"Hmm," Feferi says thoughtfully. "I informed the burglarized ship of their missing cargo, but I didn't get a chance to follow up. I've been so busy with this conference!"

Sounds promising, but who knows how long it's going to take for her to have time for your request. "How's your networking going, then?" you say instead.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it! We're working on some really great reforms," she says happily. "Look, if you want I can give you that pharmaceutical ship's contact information! I don't have time to call personally right now, of course, but you don't need any special clearance to contact these guys so it shouldn't be an issue!"

"That would be great, thanks, FF," you say with relief.

"Roger that! Sorry I didn't think of this sooner, I feel so silly!" she says. There's a commotion in the background, over the transmitter. "Oh cod, I have to get back to the meeting, they're signaling the end of break. I'll send you their info now, and just let me know how this all ends up!"

"Got it. Thanks again for taking the time for all of this."

"Of course! It's my duty! What kind of commander would I be if I didn't? Stay safe though, Solfish. Everything okay with Eridan there?"

"Oh, it's... fine, yeah," you say, deciding it's probably better not to go into it.

"That's great!" You can hear the relief in her voice, and you're glad you didn't say anything else. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay. Bye, FF." Your transmitter beeps as she hangs up, then lets out another beep when you receive the contact information for the cargo ship. Huh. You've never spoken to this ship before. You dial the number warily as you quickly catch your crew up on the finer details of your conversation. A cheery voice answers the line.

"Captain John Egbert here! How can I be of service?" A fucking _human_ , of course. It all makes sense now. If anyone isn't going to notice half their cargo being stolen then fail to track it when notified, it's a human.

You clear your throat. "This is Captain Sollux Captor, of Intergalactic Technical Support Ship 1212. Requesting information regarding several items of cargo that were previously in your ownership."

"Well, sure!" Captain Egbert replies cheerily. "Er... you realize this is a medical delivery ship, right? What does a tech support ship want with medical information?"

"That's official business," you say shortly. You don't exactly have time to explain your whole goddamn life story to this guy now do you? "If you'd like, I can give you my badge number to confirm I'm part of the IG."

"No, jeez, that's okay!" You hear him huff with laughter on the other end of the line, and you hate just him a little. "I was just wondering, Mr. Fellow Captain, no need to breath down my neck about it!"

You sigh, and affirm: If any human would fail to follow up on missing cargo, it would be this guy. "Would you happen to have tracking information for the cargo that was reported stolen from your ship two days ago, and have you followed up on the situation to triangulate its location and begin a recovery process?"

"Oh... you know, I think that cargo does have a tracking number! Smart thinking! I just kinda figured it was long gone and had everything replaced." He laughs. You do not. Who the hell is this guy, and how did he ever become a captain?

"Well. If you would be so kind as to give it to me, we can track it down for you and you won't need to worry about it."

"Would you really? Gosh, that's awfully nice of you! Are you sure you don't want me to, uh, send any of my crew members down to help you out with getting it back and stuff?"

"No, we will be fine, I assure you," you say quickly. Christ, the last thing you need right now is more of another ship's crew members being shoved into yours to "help." Not that Eridan's presence has been _completely_ unhelpful, you must admit. But still.

"Well... okay then!" he says, still sounding a little uncertain about the whole ordeal. "Let me transmit you the coordinates as soon as I have them! Is this number okay for doing that? Safe connection and all?"

"This is fine."

"Great! Uh... what are you planning on doing with the cargo if you end up recovering it?"

"We'll be in contact," you say shortly, and abruptly hang up before he can respond. 

"Did they have a lead on the coordinates, then?" Eridan asks you hopefully. 

"Yes. Sort of. They forgot they could track their missing cargo and just replaced it all instead."

Aradia snorts. "Good lord. That crew sounds like a piece of work."

"Tell me about it. The captain was a human, and he sounded even more unreasonably chipper about everything than FF."

"I can't even imagine," Aradia deadpans.

"It was horrible, I'm amazed I survived the ordeal." You hear the beep of an incoming message, and sigh with relief. You were half afraid he'd end up forgetting to send you the location. Or that he didn't actually have any tracking devices on the pharmaceuticals and just imagined that he was competent enough to do something as complicated as attaching trackers, which is almost a more likely option, judging from your interaction. 

You type the coordinates into your GPS and wait for it to load a location for you. 

"Shit. Of course."

"Where is it?" Aradia says, peeking over your shoulder. 

"Exactly where the laws of irony would put it. Right by that bar we went to on our first night."

She sighs. "Back there. Of course. Well, I guess we should get ready to go, then! At least we won't have any trouble finding the area." She moves to grab her boots and stops the process at your expression. "That face had better not mean what I think it does," she says to you flatly.

"I..." You hesitate. "I think I should do this alone." Aradia gives you a leveling gaze, and manages to convey disapproval and understanding in one glance. Nepeta, on the other hand, is pure confusion, and Eridan just stares at you like you've gone completely insane. Maybe you have. "At least for the initial investigation!" you amend. "He's just... Karkat is my friend, or was, at least. I just feel like it's personal now. I don't know."

"Sollux, don't be dumb," Aradia says wearily. "I knew him too. And you have no idea how dangerous the situation is going to be. What are you going to do, blow the building up with your psionics if things get out of hand?"

"She's right, these trolls are fuckin' scary, you aren't doin' this alone, Sol," Eridan pipes up. Aradia looks at him in bewilderment, though whether it's a reaction towards the use of the nickname, or to him agreeing with her, or both, you don't know. "We're comin' with you whether you want us there or not."

"It would be prudent to have somebody as backup," Equius says, nodding. Nepeta sits on the floor and nods Pounce the Second's head in agreement instead of her own. 

"Fine," you say, knowing when you've been beaten. "But stay back and don't get in my way unless I ask for help, okay?"

"If you even think for a second," Aradia says slowly, "that I would let you get in harm's way because of your misplaced sense of pride, you must find me to be a truly useless moirail indeed."

Oh. You hadn't really meant to insult Aradia there, but you suppose that is something that happened anyway. "Uh," you say sheepishly in response. Her face softens.

"Sollux, it's okay. Just... don't do anything stupid just because you've got personal stakes, okay? Promise me, and then we can all head over there together, as a crew."

"...I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should be the last! Thanks everyone who's stuck with me on this long editing ride that's taker longer than actually writing the damn thing.


	14. Chapter 14

The journey down the familiar twisting alleyways and narrow, pungent streets is automatic and silent, and a solemn atmosphere thickens the air between all of you. When you arrive at the Oinkbeast's Nug, you stop and stare up at the sign, still gently swinging in the breeze from its precariously secured pole, and wonder what's going to happen when and if you see Karkat. You're suddenly extremely glad to have Aradia with you, despite your earlier protests. A psionic breakdown isn't _entirely_ out of the realm of possiblity, and having her nearby — even if that ends up being less "by your side" and more "within sprinting distance" — is a considerable solace. 

"According to the coordinates, it's four doors down from here, then straight forward. Keep an eye out for a secret entrance, because the transmitter has no indication of anything, so it must be unmapped." You walk down the alley as you speak. "It should be right about... Oh." You stop walking. In the high brick wall, there's the subtle indication of a door, hinted at only by the settling of dust around the edges of certain bricks. If your transmitter hadn't been telling you to walk straight through this exact location, you wouldn't have even noticed it.

"A wall," Eridan says flatly.

"No, you dumbass, what did Sollux just say? There's a door here!" Aradia interjects, then turns to you. "How do you think we get in? I don't see any handle."

"Good question," you say. You try pushing on one side, then the other, then the first side a little harder. On your second round at the right side, the dust stirs even more around the bricks, and the edge comes out a little from the surrounding wall. You motion Equius over as soon as you see this, and he shoves it easily open with one hand, the bricks creaking with protest, and the slow slide of the door reveals a long, dark passage of stairs that reaches deep underground.

Aradia whistles. "Well, that's a secret passageway if I ever saw one."

"It sure is," you say. You turn to the others. "So..." Aradia crosses her arms.

"I'm going with you," she says. You look at her, pleadingly, trying to convey words with your glance. She sighs. "Nepeta, Equius, Eridan, you stay behind and guard the entrance. Eridan, you know what Tavros and Gamzee look like, so alert Nepeta and Equius the second you see them if they happen to come by. If we need you as backup, I'll send an emergency alert to your transmitter."

"Yes, Co-Captain," says Equius. 

"We will be vigilant!" Nepeta agrees, saluting cheerfully. 

"...I'll keep my eyes open," says Eridan. He looks as if he wants to say something more. You are grateful that he holds it in. 

"Shall we go then?" says Aradia, looking at you for validation. You give the tiniest of nods, and swallow your pride of solidarity. You can deal with this.

You both proceed down the staircase carefully. The steps are stone: uneven, and unlit. Trolls can see perfectly well in the dark, of course, but the steps seem to be angled purposefully to trip both of you up and your two-toned glasses certainly don't help much with depth perception. You cling to Aradia resignedly, turned slightly sideways so that you can both fit next to each other in the narrow stairwell. It's uncomfortable, but at least you won't go toppling down the stairs anytime soon. You've never been too steady going down stairs — they set your teeth on edge, and you've always had the uneasy feeling that you had an untimely tumble in another life. Who isn't to say that it couldn't happen again in this one, right? Better safe than sorry.

The stupid stairs certainly aren't doing anything for your nerves, either. You clench your fists even tighter into the fabric of Aradia's sweatshirt — you're both wearing civilian clothes again today, and your claws hooking into the loosely woven fabric is a small comfort, as is the rise of her breath next to you. You silently thank Aradia again for overriding your silly sense of pride.

After what seems like an eternity, the stairway finally ends, and another long, narrow hallway extends before you, again in complete darkness. Well, if anything, this sure isn't a hideout for humans, as if the windowless stone walls hadn't tipped you off before. 

You approach forward slowly, walking as quietly as you can. The hallway, oddly, is somehow muting your footsteps rather than magnifying them, so it isn't actually too difficult to do so. This is jarring for stone, which is of course a familiar substance. You can only assume there's some sort of additional insulation to keep this place even more unobtrusive to the outside world.

And so, obviously, if Karkat's been here all this time, it's no wonder no one has found _him_. But why is he here? Judging from what Gamzee said and what you know about him, it seems likely that he's a prisoner, rather than being here of his own volition. You've been trying not to think about this fact because of how much it scares you. And how much more damage there might be now, sweeps after he disappeared and you dismissed him as culled. You looked a _little_ , sure, but...you could have looked harder. You could have rescued him sweeps ago. You have the urge to push Aradia away and send her back up the stairwell with the wave of shame that comes over you, but you cling to her instead, desperately. You need her right now.

"Sollux? How are you doing?" She seems to have noticed your sudden silence. And clutching. 

"...I've been better," you say truthfully. She nods solemnly. 

"You'll be okay. I'm here. And besides, we both know you've faced worse and gotten through it." This is true. You nod quietly. It's all you can really do to show your appreciation, other than clinging onto her like your life depends on it. For all you know, it might. 

When you finally reach the end, the endless, long end of the passageway, you breath in sharply, and try to figure out which way to turn. But there isn't a way. At least not that you can see. There is bare wall on either side, and flat darkness in front of you. No sign of any hidden doorway that you can see. You and Aradia stare at the blank wall, and you wonder what to do.

Until Aradia puts her hand forward and it goes through solid stone.

Oh.

So apparently it was an invisible wall then. That's cool. You didn't have enough to deal with, with all the hidden doorways and precarious stairs and sound-muffling stone and unlit passages. Now you have to have an invisible wall, too. Whoever made this place really pulled out all the secrecy stops. You suddenly start to have an uneasy feeling, like maybe Aradia shouldn't go, like this is going to be something private.

"Wait," you say, before she can take another step. And she looks right at you, like she can tell exactly what you're going to say next, like you're more transparent than the wall in front of you. You can feel all her arguments resonate in her head before she can say a single word. _You've been saying this every step of this process, but you know you needed me here. You never listen; you're too headstrong. I know what's best for you. I should be there._ And she'd normally be right, of course. She's been right. You don't have a concrete rebuttal for her, just the overwhelming feeling that, now more than at any other point, you should be doing this alone. You tell yourself that it's not a pride thing this time, it's something deeper, something you might not be able to explain.

"Sollux..." There's worry in her eyes, and tiredness, like she's done with this argument before it begins.

"If there's something beyond here that's more than just a room or two, I'll come back and take you with me. But I just feel like... Karkat's beyond here, and I need to talk to him alone," you try to explain. It's weak. It feels weak even to you. "I appreciate you coming. And for forcing it. I really do. I just need this. If he's really here.... I..." And then, somehow, something in Aradia's face changes at your words.

"I...understand," she says, in a tone that suggests she wishes she didn't. "Please call me if there's any trouble though Sollux. Please."

"I will. I promise, Aradia. I will." You squeeze her shoulder one last time and blink your eyes shut, before you can change your mind, and the hologram flickers over you as you pass through to the other side.

***

And then he's there in front of you, almost before you can process your surroundings. He's like a hologram himself, unreal, yet uncomfortably corporeal at the same time. He's got the same hard, angry eyes you remember from grubhood, and the same face, though its visibly filled out with age. His limbs are longer than you remember, but not by much. He's tiny. Maybe even tinier than Tavros, and he doesn't have any huge bull horns to support himself with. Instead, they're nearly invisible beneath a mass of black hair, small and rounded. He's sitting on the floor, next to his recuperacoon and a pile of half-empty pill bottles and jars. And he's looking at you, eyes filled with nothing but shock. 

You walk towards him, slowly, as if he's part of a dream. Maybe he is. You don't have any tangible evidence that your memories of him were real. He certainly doesn't feel real now, sitting in a hidden cave on the ground, surrounded, you assume, by the stolen pharmaceuticals. But his setting otherwise don't mesh at all with what you'd imagined. There are no chains, no signs he's been held against his will. Instead, there's a dresser with well worn drawers, pulled open and closed so many times that they've formed grooves along the bottoms. There's a cozy-looking recuperacoon. There's a gray rug with strange, bright red accents, like droplets of human blood. Even odder, the walls are plastered with troll romcom movie posters, some of them yellowing around the edges with age. And right in front of you, there's a familiar open husktop, sitting on the lap of the troll you once hardly knew, and now certainly don't know at all. 

But you're here, and he's here, and you're going to have to say something to break the silence. "Karkat?"

"Sollux? Is that... you?" There's no fire left in his tone, none of the snap that you remember, even if the ghost of it is still etched into his face. "How did you find me? Fuck, _why_ did you find me?" He swallows, looks nervous, like maybe he's in trouble for something.

You're going to explain, you swear, as soon as this lump removes itself from your throat.

"K-Karkat," you manage finally, the words still sounding odd in your mouth after so many sweeps of disuse. "Nobody else knows you're here, I swear. I just—" And then you look at him closer, and your calm explanation for why you're here fizzles up and dies. You were so distracted by finally seeing him again, with the changes in him that came simply with growing up, that you didn't even notice these bigger changes that didn't come with time, the changes that signified something was very wrong. His eyes, not just filled with shock, but sunk into their sockets, oddly colored. The strange, muti-hued flush to his cheeks. His thin, thin wrists and stuttering shoulders, rasping breath. And worst of all, the telltale marks on his arm, which he covers up quickly, as soon as he catches you staring. 

"Holy shit," you say. And then you can't help the questions from pouring out, panicked. "Are you sick? Why are you here? They... that Gamzee guy, did he do something to you?"

"How the fuck do you know about Gamzee?" he says defensively, tiredly. This could very well turn into one of those back-and-forths where a lot of questions are asked and none are answered unless you do something about it.

"I'm following a stolen drug trail that we think Gamzee and his matesprit are a part of, and I..." you look pointedly at the pile of bottles. "I have reason to believe you're sitting right next to what I'm looking for. Karkat..." You swallow. "Please tell me you're a victim in this, they're forcing you to be here, and you're not an accomplice. Because despite how incriminating this looks, considering the tracking ID I got for this cargo led me right here, you don't really look like a villian right now. Tell me you're some sort of..." Your voice raises slightly in desperation. "...Test subject, or something, for their underground drug shit — no, what am I saying, that's horrible, tell me it's all just a misunderstanding, tell me..." You trail off, realizing it may be more productive to actually let Karkat talk than it is to put different scenarios in his mouth.

"They haven't — fuck, of course this stuff had a tracker on it, I must not have looked properly — yeah, they've been giving me this stuff, I admit it, but it hasn't been against my will, really—" he swallows, as if his next words are difficult to get out, and you take the opportunity to speak.

"What do you mean, _'really'_?"

He gestures at the pill bottles. "It's just... Trollxycodone and stuff, I asked them to get it for me, I didn't know they stole it though..."

"Trollxycodone? Like, the painkiller?" This stops you for a moment. But you hear Aradia's voice in your head, describing the stolen cargo. " _It seems like a pretty random assortment, as far as I can tell — painkillers, some blood thinners..."_

"They didn't just steal painkillers!" you say suddenly. "I heard one of their conversations, Karkat, they were talking about you, about visiting you, that's how I knew you might be here, I... they said they were going to..." You scrunch up your brow, trying to remember the exact phrasing. "This guy is really dangerous, I don't know why he got painkillers for you or why you need them but they're going to force some drug into you, they said they were coming today — look, my crew is outside, and they'll probably be able to hold them off, if I tell them to. Eridan can actually be pretty lethal when he needs to — is there a back entrance, or...?"

"No!" Karkat says loudly, with more conviction than you've heard yet in the few words he's spoken. "You can't! Don't do anything to do them!" The fire that you remember is back in his eyes, and he pushes his husktop off his lap defiantly. You take a step back.

"But... Karkat, I heard him say..."

"It's too late anyway, they were already here this morning," he says with a sigh. "I appreciate you coming here to rescue me—" he pauses to look at you curiously, "—and for being all weirdly invested after not seeing me for sweeps, but you're way over your head here. My life doesn't involve you anymore, and for good reason."

"What...why? What?" Pent-up adrenaline escapes from you like you're a deflating balloon, and the finger you had hovering over your transmitter, ready to send an alert to Nepeta, drops to your side, defeated.

"God, it's so fucking weird that you're here," he says, rubbing his face with his hand. "I really didn't want to have to deal with this extra complication."

"Can you at least tell me what's going on?" you say, deciding to pointedly ignore the somewhat insulting insinuation that you're merely a "complication" when you went through all this trouble to track him down.

He looks at you for a moment. "I guess I might as well," he says finally. "Nothing really to lose at this point. Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't figure it out when we were wigglers."

"Figure what out, Lusus above, Karkat—"

"I'm a mutant." This shuts you up pretty quick. "Abnormal blood color. Bright red, just like a fucking human, or like this dumb carpet. Gamzee thought he'd get me it as a little joke." He glowers downwards. "Anyway, I could hide it well enough with you since we were just acquaintances, pretend I was an ashamed rustblood or something, but once my eyes started changing and my skin started to thin out, I kind of had to go into hiding to avoid being culled." You don't think you can form words right now, so you just stare at him, speechless. "Gamzee is my moirail," he continues. "He has been for a long time. Him and Tavros helped sneak me off Alternia and find this place, actually. I've mostly been making a living doing programming under a psuedonym. I get money transferred to Gamzee's account and he gets me what I need, so I don't know why they needed to steal the painkillers. I guess it was too hard to get the right blood stuff without a prescription and they figured they might as well get Trollxycodone at the same time." He sighs. "What dumbhoofbeasts."

"But Karkat...after the collapse of the empire, nobody cared about mutants anymore. You could have come work for the IGA like me and Aradia, gotten some protection. And what is this... 'blood stuff'?"

"The blood stuff," he says wearily, as if preparing for a longer explanation than he really wants to disclose, "is sort of the whole problem here. Gamzee is pretty knowledgeable about pharmaceuticals and their side effects, having been a junkie for a large portion of his life. And his blood status and history has given him some connections on the inside. That's how he met Tavros; he's a registered chemist, if you can believe it. That kid leads quite the double life."

Anyway, when I moved here originally, it was only gonna be for a little while, until I could find a place to work where they wouldn't freak the fuck out about my blood color and would _ideally_ offer me some protection around it. But then... I started getting sick. Tavros was the one who figured out it was the mutant blood that was causing it. Did some tests, somehow, I don't know. My fucking blood, after I kept from being culled for sweeps, was fucking killing me itself. It's laughably ironic." His voice catches. "This new drug they've concocted was their last resort. 'Their last resort' being the key term here, because I'm kind of resigned to my fate at this point. That's probably why you overheard them talking about forcing it — I told them I'd rather just die in peace with my painkillers." 

"But they got you to take it this morning," you say.

He nods weakly. "Unfortunately. And it feels terrible."

You try desperately to follow this course of events logically, distantly, try to push your emotions out of it. Why didn't he contact you all these years, why did he fight alone? You could have gotten help, you could have... you couldn't really have done anything. And he's right. You hardly knew him as a grub. But still...there's just something about this whole situation that twists your insides. Maybe if he hadn't gone into hiding you could have been a lot more than just blackrom crushes, grubhood hacker friends. 

"Of course," he says, "it's only been a couple of hours, I have no way of knowing whether it's working yet. I fucking doubt it, though, with how much it burns. Something must have gone wrong. Hurts my eyes, too, but Tavros told me that part was expected, since it's changing my retina colors and all."

"Your retina colors?" You look closer at him. "What the hell does this drug even do?"

"I'm a mutant limeblood," he says. "So it should correct the color of my blood on the hemospectrum, switch it to lime. Tavros thinks that, in theory, it'll fix all the bad pathogens or whatever the hell is causing the problem that's fucking killing me. Sounds pretty far fetched, doesn't it?" He manages a weak smile, but his eyes still look angry and sad. 

"It...does," you admit. "Christ, Karkat, I can't believe I just met you again, and you might be dying."

"I'm definitely dying," he deadpans. "It's not really a question."

"Well, what if the drug ends up working? You just said it was too early to tell."

"I doubt it will. I told you, it was a last resort. They're out of the key ingredient now, which apparently is fucking impossible to get a hold of, and even if they do find more I'll probably die before they can manage to get enough for another round of injections. Thanks for your concern, but you should just leave me alone."

"Shit, Karkat..." You don't know what you can possibly do for him, but simply leaving and letting him die is definitely not on the top of the list. Suddenly, you have an idea. "Hey, the ship Gamzee and Tavros stole from, I just talked to the captain—"

He actually laughs for real at this, albeit a bit wheezily. "Great," he says. "You can report us, and I can spend my last few months or weeks in prison instead of in here. It'll be a change of scenery, I guess."

You shake your head. "That's not what I meant. He seems like a pretty laid back guy. In fact, he didn't even seem to care that his cargo was stolen. He just replaced it all. I bet if we ask him, we could get more. How much more do you think you'll need?"

Karkat shrugs, looking at you disbelievingly. "Not much. Tavros said this thing needs to be taken in three rounds to be fully effective, so however much is double what they took last time. I know it wasn't a lot. But Sollux... you're a fucking government agent, do you really want to risk your job for something that probably won't even work?"

"Fuck the IGA," you say harshly. "I don't think you're supposed to die here, Karkat. It feels wrong."

Karkat just snorts. "Like dying ever feels right."

You ignore him. "I might as well ask him. Tell him it's for a good cause. Fuck, if I need it, I can pull some strings if we get into trouble. Eridan and Feferi can always bail me out."

"Must be nice to have connections."

You sigh. "I try not to abuse them. Except in emergencies. Like now. Give me your transmitter information, in case I need to contact you." You hold out your own transmitter expectantly. 

Karkat shakes his head. "I don't have one. It's too dangerous. I'll give you Tavros's. He'll be able to give you more exact amount anyway, and he's almost always nearby. I can give you the name of what I need, though." He punches it all in as you wait.

"...Okay. Look, Karkat, you're going to be fine, alright?"

"Sure," he says, sounding completely unconvinced. "Thanks for going through this trouble for me I guess, even though it won't work."

You start to turn to go, knowing you'll need to work quickly on this to get him the ingredient in time, but you don't want to leave him. What if this is the last time you see him? It's such a short, depressing final conversation, considering how short it's been since you realized he was alive. 

He huffs a short sigh, as if recognizing the reason behind your hesitation. "Stupid as the circumstances are, it was good to see you one more time, Sollux," he says. "Now go get out of here. Go do something illegal. I'm counting on you, fuckface."

You laugh, somehow. "Fine. Stay alive, Karkat, okay?" He shrugs noncommittally as you go back through the hologram door with an uneasy wave. 

Aradia is right there as soon as you exit. 

"Sollux? You were gone for a while, what happened? I couldn't hear anything, the soundproofing is too good—"

"No time to talk now, AA, I need to call John."

"John?" She pauses at this, confused. "Who's John?"

"The captain of that pharmaceutical ship that all that shit was stolen from, remember?" you say hurriedly as you pull Aradia through the narrow passageway and up the long, precarious stairs with you.

"Ah. The...human?" she says, obviously not understanding anything further than she had before. You get this. You do. You're just a little busy at the moment. 

You leave Aradia to explain the situation to the rest of your crew, and remember somehow to prioritize calling Tavros. 

"Hello?" says an uncertain voice. That's him alright.

"Tavros? Look, no time to really explain, but I'm a friend of Karkat's and I'm getting him more of that drug he needs for his injections. He gave me this number. Can you tell me exactly how much he'll need total?"

After a pause, he does.

"Thanks," you say, and hang up. 

Your crew is staring at you.

"You're certainly bein' efficient. Care to explain to us all what's goin' on?" Eridan says.

"No," you say shortly, already dialing John's number. He picks up right away, thank god.

"John, er, Captain Egbert, it's Captain Sollux of Intergalactic Technical Support Ship 1212, remember me? We've got a bit of a situation..."

***

You call Tavros's number some time later once the drug has been delivered, just to confirm that everything went through and it's the correct amount.

"Tavros? It's Sollux. Did you get everything?"

"Yes, uh, we got it, but," he says, sounding very unsure of himself. You're not sure if it's because that's the way he is, or if it's because something has gone horribly wrong. You decide to clarify, rather than just hang up and let your bated breath throttle you. 

"...Was it the right stuff? Was it enough?"

"Yes, it it right, it's all fine, thank you, we're just not, sure, if it got here in time—" There's a loud, angrily drawling voice in the background. Shuffling noises. Hesitant shooshing. "I'm sorry, Gamzee is, upset, we're a little, preoccupied with it."

The line goes flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I lied about this being the last chapter. There's also an epilogue.


	15. Epilogue

You are Sollux Captor, the captain of the tech crew for the head of the IGA starship fleet, Starship 001, and you were engrossed deep in a particularly vile line of code until just recently. Your transmitter has begun buzzing, and you know it's your kismesis. Only he would call you in the middle of such a critical job, the dick. 

"ED, you fishfaced asshole, what the fuck do you want, I'm busy," you snap. It's a familiar, friendly snap, though. You may as well have said _hi, sweetie, how are you_?

"You've got a new applicant for your tech team, filling the empty spot of Equius and Nepeta." You're surprised. It's only been a few days since they got transferred to another ship. 

"Well, that's fine," you say. "But why the hell did you feel the need to call me about this in the middle of work? We do applicant reviews every other day, in person, you know. After fucking all, you _are_ a part of them." You're not really mad, figuring this is another one of his bored, flirty pitch games. You _do_ wish he'd waited until you'd figured out this code, though.

"I just thought you might be interested in this one," he says. "Got a pretty rare blood color. And you know I always take an interest in blood color."

"Sure, of course you do, you hemospectrum freak, I just don't get how—"

"He's a limeblood, Sol. By the name of Karkat Vantas."

There's a silence. "...Will you give him a call?" you say. "Tell him he's got the position? And tell FF applications are closed now, would you?"

You can hear the smirk in his voice. "Sure thing, Sol."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who stuck with this fic to the end! I hope you all enjoyed it :)


End file.
